


Ideal Pursuits

by gayboy



Category: American History - Fandom, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fuckboy, Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Romance, Trans Male Character, mutual hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 93,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayboy/pseuds/gayboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander soon learned that people in Annapolis didn't forget, and maybe they didn't change, either.<br/>In any case, they probably wouldn't have if he hadn't been thrown in the mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impedimenta

 

Alexander pushed open the doors of Frederick High School, not knowing what to expect inside. He was greeted by the typical high school interior; there was a wide corridor with bulletin boards on both sides, announcing various gatherings and activities, an office at the far end, and several students walking to their morning classes. He quickly took in the atmosphere and began to walk forward, schedule in hand.

He had taken two steps from his starting place when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked to his right, where he saw a student who was tall and gave off a warm aura. Although Alexander presumed he was a student, he looked mature enough to be in grad school.

“Hi, you must be Alexander Hamilton. I’m George Washington. It’s my duty to show you around today and make sure you’re comfortable. Welcome to Frederick. Walk with me.” George took his hand off of Alexander’s shoulder and began to stride forward. Alexander had to take two steps to match his one. “What’s your first class?”

Alexander looked at his schedule. He appreciated how Washington skipped the small talk and went straight to the point. He squinted at his schedule. “My first period class is organic chemistry with Franklin.”

“That’s in the science wing. Right now we’re in the language wing.” Washington gestured to the various posters on the walls, portraying various quotes from famous novels. “It’s upstairs.”

“What courses are offered in terms of science?” inquired Alexander as he saw another student run into Washington.

“Washington! How ya been?”

“Fine.”

“So sorry for that.” The other student said in a mocking tone.

“No problem.” Washington put on a forced smile.

“Later.”

After the encounter was over, Alexander looked back at the assailant. “Who was that?” he asked, although he thought he had already figured out the relationship between the two. Washington looked at Alexander, stopping as he reached an empty flight of stairs.

“That’s George Frederick. We’re not friends, but I know him.” Washington paused for a moment. “You’re probably wondering if that Frederick has anything to do with Frederick High School.”

“You’re right.” stated Alexander.

“Actually, his great-grandfather founded the school, so he can essentially do whatever and nobody cares.” Washington lowered his voice. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but everybody already knows so it won’t make a difference.”

Alexander cocked his head to one side.

“Don’t mess with Frederick. He can be very unsavory when he wished to be.”

“In what way?” Alexander inquired.

“I don’t want to want to talk about it. You’ll find out eventually.” Although Alexander’s question was never answered, the line of conversation was dropped there. He’d find out eventually.

Nodding, Alexander agreed. “So, chemistry with Franklin.” he said as the pair ascended the staircase.

“It’s an important class for understanding of mechanics in everyday life.” stated Washington as the bell to get to first period rang. “I’ll meet you here after class is over. I’m next door in AP physics.”

Alexander waved goodbye, walking through the door to the chemistry lab. He observed the various concoctions on the lab benches and the notebooks neatly lined up in the cabinets. There were various chemicals lined up in glass cabinets. “Semi-toxic.” He read out loud.

Looking around the room, Alexander decided where to sit as the rest of the class filed in. Some looked at him with curiosity. He decided to sit in the front row, next to another disheveled-looking boy.

The other boy turned around and examined Alexander carefully, as if he were looking through a microscope. Alexander was uncomfortable throughout this ordeal. After about a minute, he held out his hand. “John Adams.” He stated firmly.

Alexander took his hand, which was warm and a bit sweaty. However, he shook it with dignity. “Alexander Hamilton.”

“So you’re the transfer student.”

“I see you’ve heard of me,” grinned Alexander. This guy seemed moderately irritating.

“You’re going to be my new lab partner, since Thom,” John turned around to glare at another student in the classroom, “left me.”

“Nice to meet you, John.”

John began whispering something to Alexander as the bell to begin class rang. He didn’t catch the full sentence, but he heard something along the lines of, “have you heard about…?”

At the bell, a man walked into the room. Alexander assumed this was Mr. Franklin. He was aged, with long-ish, receding gray hair, and a few pounds to spare. He quickly scanned the class to see if there were any students absent when his eyes fell upon Alexander.

“You must be Mr. Hamilton.”

“You’re correct, sir.” Alexander enjoyed the sound of ‘Mr. Hamilton’, something he had never been called before. He heard someone in the back of the room snigger at his reply, but he chose to ignore it. He did not want to make a scene in his first class at a new school.

“Come up here,” Mr. Franklin gestured to the demonstration desk, “and tell us briefly about yourself.”

Alexander confidently walked up to the front of the lab and wrote his name upon the chalkboard, hearing the tap of each of his lines. He prided himself upon his handwriting.

“Hello, everyone.” Alexander saw all of his new classmates beside themselves with boredom, and wondered if this was what teachers saw every day. He hadn’t actually experienced the class yet, so perhaps it was just him who bored everyone upon first glance. He made a mental note to change that by the end of the year.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, but some choose to call me Alex. Either is acceptable.” Alex quickly thought of how to follow himself up. “I live in an orphanage and I’m moved around fairly often, so this is my third high school so far. I’ve lived in a myriad of places. My passion is writing. I hope we can get along.” After Alexander finished, he went back to his seat. He heard some whispering coming from behind him.

“Wordy.” John whispered next to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

During that class period, Alexander learned that perhaps chemistry was not as dry as he had originally found it to be. It was during a demonstration in which sodium ions exploded that he decided that, perhaps, anything can be interesting if only presented in an interesting fashion. In addition, he had become familiar with several new faces. He looked forward to tomorrow’s first period.

Mr. Franklin had dismissed the class a few minutes early, and Alexander had spent these few minutes talking with John. In the forty minutes the two had known each other, Alexander couldn’t figure out how to feel about him. It was a feeling of uncertainty he was unfamiliar with. John was erratic, often making unexpected points. However, Alexander could tell that under his surface, he possessed intelligence and potential to achieve. The problem was that John often didn’t have the words to express his complex and often original ideas.

“You know, I’m going to be a lawyer one day.” he said.

“Really?” asked Alexander rhetorically, yet with interest. He would have guessed engineer or perhaps rocket scientist as a career goal for John, but law was unexpected.

“I’ll make sure everyone knows my name. Maybe one day, I’ll be the president, or at least US supreme court justice.” John seemed very confident in his claims, and Alexander decided to not deter him.

“Which university are you looking to attend?” asked Alexander. ‘This guy is terribly idealistic,’ he thought.

“I’m looking to attend Harvard Law School. If I work enough, I’ll be able to reach there.” said John with a touch of wistfulness in his voice. Alexander noticed that John was very set in his ideals. He liked this about the other boy, because it reminded him of himself.

John thought for a moment. “And you?”

Alexander answered without missing a beat. “Ideally, I’d like to become a political scientist and help shape the American mindset. Less ideally, I’d also like to practice law.”

“What do you mean by ‘less ideally’? Are you insinuating that practicing law isn’t good enough as a career?”

Alexander saw signs of John beginning to succumb to anger. He searched for the words to quell him. However, before he had the chance to speak, the bell to end class rang. For this, he was grateful. He didn’t want to risk losing John as a friend, and he certainly didn’t want to start a fight on his first day. He looked back at John, who had calmed into his normal state.

“See you later, Alex.” mumbled John as he hastily shoved papers into his bag and exited the classroom.

As Alex exited the classroom, he saw Washington waiting for him. He had completely forgotten about Washington, but he was relieved to see a familiar face, and one which was friendly.

“How was chemistry?” asked Washington.

“So much better than chemistry at my last school,” replied Alexander.

Washington chuckled a knowing chuckle briefly, before regaining his composure. “What class is your next class?”

Alexander looked down at his schedule, before stifling a groan. “Orchestra.”

“You’re not a man for the fine arts?” asked Washington. His genuine concern made Alexander feel appreciated, a feeling which he didn’t experience often.

“I enjoy them well enough,” he answered. “However, participating is a different story. I would rather listen to a concert than have anything to do with it.”

“I enjoy fine arts, but I’d rather work on independent projects than be graded on my artistic integrity.” Washington said looked at the ceiling as they walked down the hallway.

“Is that so? What do you do?”

“I play the trombone, as well as dabbling in theatrical arts. Right now, though, I’m trying to get the Fine Arts requirement out of the way. I should not have put that off until the last year of high school…” Washington trailed.

“So,” he started again, almost running down the stairs. “What do you play?”

Alex struggled to stay in pace with Washington as he descended the stairs. “Oh no,” he whispered, coming to a sudden realization.

“Is there an issue?” queried Washington.

“I just recalled that I don’t play an instrument.”

°°°°°

Thomas Jefferson, among other things, was a virtuoso. At the age of sixteen, he was proficient in the violin, cello, and clavichord. He spoke fluent English and French, writing eloquently. He was handsome, with a strong jawline and wavy hair. He had many admirers. His family was wealthy, residing in the wealthy district of Monticello. In addition, he was rumored to receive perfect grades, although he was rarely seen studying. Many envied him, and many despised him; however, one thing was to be said about him- he had a life which most considered perfect.

Thomas, or Thom as he preferred to be called, would agree with many that his life was perfect. However, there was one thing which he did not have which he found necessary to live a truly worthwhile life. Out of all things, Thom lacked someone to truly match his intellect. He lacked a rival.

°°°°°

Alexander Hamilton stumbled through the door to the orchestra room, causing everyone to stare at him. The orchestra members were in various stages of preparing their instruments.

Alexander gave a small wave towards the masses. “Hi… everyone.”

“Hi, you must be Alexander. I’m Ms. Chase. I’ll be your conductor from now on.” She shuffled over to the instrument cabinets, trying to avoid knocking over anyone’s music stand.

“Which instrument do you play, Alexander? Also, is there anything you go by rather than Alexander?”

“Alex is fine. Also,” Alexander didn’t quite know how to phrase his dilemma. “I don’t play anything? If my lack of ability will deter the class, I would be happy transfer into a different class…”

“Nonsense!” answered Ms. Chase. “It’s never too late to begin learning an instrument. You know, they say that music supplements the brain’s ability to function. Let me rephrase my question, then; which instrument would you like to start learning?”

Alex decided he liked Ms. Chase. She gave off a vibe of encouragement, which was one badly needed in the abyss of American education. “I think I would like to start learning how to play the cello.” He proclaimed.

After about a minute of searching through the cabinet of school-owned instruments, Ms. Chase pulled out a cello. “This looks like it would be about your size. Try it out and tell me if it needs anything done to it.” Ms. Chase thought for a moment. “Thom, come over here.” She called.

As Thom shuffled through the mess of cases, bags, and people, Ms. Chase explained, “Thom is my best student. He really shouldn’t be in this class, but we only have one orchestra for both newbies and veterans alike. Since I can’t take time to instruct you specifically during this period, I’ll have Thom show you the basics of the cello.”

Thom had made his way over to the two. “Ms. Chase?”

“Thom, you’ll be showing Alexander here the basics of the cello for as long as he needs your instruction, since you can catch up far more quickly than anyone else in this class.”

“Clear,” he answered.

“Perfect. You can go into the practice room and start.” She directed Thom. “Good luck and good playing!” she said to Alexander before she left to initiate practice.

Thom led Alexander into the practice room, located off of the end of the room. “Pleasure to meet you, Alex. I’m Thom. By the way, that’s T-H-O-M.”

“And you as well, Thom.” Alexander sensed an air of arrogance about Thom, and impulsively decided to knock him down a peg. “It’s interesting that your name is one letter off from the-“

“French for tuna.” Finished Thom. “I’ve heard it before, don’t worry.” Although Thom was acting cool, Alex was able to read that he was, in fact, slightly irritated.

“Wait here for a moment while I gather the supplies necessary to begin.” Thom exited the room, in order to retrieve his own cello and a beginner’s book of scales and pieces.

As he waited, Alexander thought, ‘And John thought I was wordy. He should meet this guy. Wait...’

Before Alex could finish his thought, Thom returned to the room with a music stand, practice book, and cello in hand. He looked Alexander in the eye. “Let’s play.”

°°°°°

“You play violin, cello, and piano? That is amazing,” marveled Alexander.

Thom beamed a vibrant beam. He enjoyed being praised, and it happened often. “Have you any familiarity with the art of music?”

Alexander looked at the floor, trying to think back. “I recall briefly playing the recorder in middle school.”

Thom paused for a moment. “Excellent... In that case, it will not be too much of a hassle to reconvene you with written music.”

He carefully showed Alexander the proper way to hold a cello. It occurred to Alexander that Thom’s style of holding a cello looked perfect, as if the two were two halves of a whole. Despite attempting to remain cool, he blushed, as Thom was rather handsome.

“Is there a problem, Alexander?”

“It’s… it’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”

Thom thought for a moment, before he responded. “Now that you mention, I notice that it is rather warm in here. Allow me to open a window.” As Thom opened the window, the warm winter air circulated through the room.

°°°°°

As Alex soon remembered, he was terrible at recorder. There was a reason he had given up the noble instrument after one trimester of middle school general music. He was dismayed to learn that his talent for the recorder carried through to the cello as well. His fingers fumbled to pluck the strings, of which he forgot the names regularly. As opposed to Thom, Alexander had no natural talent for music, and he was certain that no amount of practice would accustom him to the practice of music.

“Here, Alexander,” directed Thom. “Pluck your strings gently but firmly. Like this.” He demonstrated pizzicato, for the fifth time.

Alexander followed suit, somehow managing to knock over his music stand in the process. He gave a sheepish grin, as Thom sighed.

“Perhaps the violin would be a better suit for you?” he suggested.

Alexander shook his head. “No. I can do this, Thom. This is simply the awkwardness of the first day.”

After this last statement, the bell to end lass rang. Thom sighed. “Let’s clean this up, put our instruments away, and pray for the best tomorrow.”

“That is all we can do as it stands. Which class do you have next?”

“I think I have English with…” Alexander trailed, attempting to remember the name of his teacher.

“Me as well. Perhaps we should accompany each other to the next class?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The two exited the room and proceeded to gather their belongings.

“How long have you been playing violin and cello?” queried Alexander.

Thom thought for a moment before giving his response. “I believe I first picked up the violin at the age of three, and advanced to cello at the age of five. However, it wasn’t until the age of seven that I participated in any sort of competition. I have yet to be internationally acknowledged. Where do you come from?”

“Irrelevant. Before last week, I lived in New York City.”

“I’m sorry,” said Thom, in a quiet tone.

“No problem,” replied Alexander. “I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

At the door, Alex and Thom met Washington. “Alex, you’ve found someone else to show you to your next class?” he asked. “Thom is a good person to shadow.”

Alexander nodded, hoping that Washington’s feelings were not too hurt.

“That’s great that you’re making friends so early into your time here. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

Alexander shook his head. “Not right now, but thank you for asking.”

“I’ll see you after next period, then.”

“See you!” Alex called as he turned to Thom. “Are you participating in any clubs or sports?”

“Certainly.” Affirmed Thom. “I’m in yearbook, newspaper, Shakespeare club, drama club, improv club, stock market club, model UN, speech, debate, finance committee, resource committee, key club, and French club. And some sports. Are you participating in any extracurricular activities?”

“Actually, I’m considering joining stock market club and Model UN.” Alexander confided in his associate.

“I see. So you take interest in that of economics and governmental issues? Ah, and we shall take a left here,” gesticulated Thom.

“Certainly. It’s a topic one would be absurd to not take interest in. And yourself?”

“I, as well, take interest in these matters. I aim to take place in a high seat of government within my lifetime.”

“That’s commitment. I still have difficulty seeing whether I’ll be able to attend a university once I graduate high school.”

“… and, we’re here.” Thom pointed out.

Alex stepped inside the English classroom, where he was met with a surprisingly small array of faces. Other than Thom and himself, he saw only four others, including John.

“Is this it?” whispered Alexander.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ehm…” Alexander started, unsure how to finish the sentence.

John hopped out of his seat, glaring wholeheartedly at Thom before turning to Alexander. “Alex, here’s everyone. You seem to have met Thom already,” grumbled John. The cause of his personal grievance was unclear, but it was clearly one of fortitude. “And you know me, but here’s the two others.”

Alexander snapped out of his daze and focused on John, eager with intent to create a larger network of friends and acquaintances.

“This” John explained, “is Lafayette. Well, his real name is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, but we just call him Lafayette. Easier on the tongue.”

At the pronunciation of his full name, Lafayette perked up. “You call?” He asked.

Alexander noticed a thick French accent on his tongue. Without missing a beat, he began to ask, “Est-ce que tu viens de la Fr-” before he was interrupted by John.

“Lafayette’s a French exchange student this year, which is why he’s in sophomore English despite being a junior.”

“I see.” muttered Alexander.

“And… this,” continued John, “this is John Laurens. Like Lafayette, I call him by his last name. It’s because we have the same, though, and I want to avoid confusion. Everyone else calls him John, and I’m usually Adams.”

John Laurens stood up, outstretching his hand to Alexander. John Laurens was tall and well built, his wide eyes and crooked nose complementing his oval face. He had light brown hair, which was voluminous and soft. Alexander resisted his urges to run his hands through it. He blushed profusely as they made eye contact, and further when he took Laurens’s warm hand.

“Hi, I’m John Laurens. It’s nice to meet you,” said John Laurens, smiling.

“Hi, John Laurens. I-I’m Alexander Hamilton and it’s really nice to meet you. You can call me Alex if you’d like.”

Laurens chuckled. “Okay, Alex.” he chirped as he sat down.

Alexander’s nickname sounded so nice on Lauren’s tongue that he briefly considered barring others from using it, to avoid spoiling the newly-discovered sanctity of it.

John moved quickly to Alexander’s side, and whispered quietly into his ear. “I see how it is.”

“John!” exclaimed Alexander quietly, as John snickered.

“So, what do you think of the class?” inquired Thom.

“Is this class large enough to be considered a class?” asked Alexander. The bell had rung amidst the confusion of introducing everyone, but no teacher had entered the room. Alex concluded that perhaps the teacher had forgotten to come today.

“Oh, but that’s the, uh, interesting part, Alex.” John chimed in from across the small room. “We don’t have a teacher or a supervisor. It’s just us.”

“What do we do? And why? That’s terrible, I’m transferring classes.”

Laurens answered for John. “We mostly discuss things and then do the actual English requirements at home. Our old teacher was fired, and so, besides us, everyone was moved to a different period. As a result, there’s us four. And now, you.”

“How is that allowed by the school board?”

“It’s really not,” answered Laurens. “But since this is an independent school, the independent school district lets it pass as long as they’re bribed enough.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Lafayette interjected. “I stay because I enjoy these people and their… euh… company. Where do you come from, Alexander?”

Alexander gave the same story he had given to Thom a period before. “Irrelevant. Before last week, I lived in New York City… I’ve been here since Saturday.” He added as an afterthought.

Thom sighed. “I’m certain that this is, word for word, the same story I was given in orchestra.”

“No mind.” commented Lafayette, before he returned to scrawling away in his notebook.

“Don’t pay him mind.” John added. “He usually writes poetry during this period, unless our discussion is on a topic that interests him.”

“I wish to become a musician.” Lafayette informed Alexander. “I must practice my words in order to write music.”

“So!” John clapped his hands together. “Why don’t we play a game of never have I ever as an ice breaker between all of us and Alexander?”

Laurens nodded. “That’s a good idea, other John.”

Thom sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, John, you have an okay idea for once. Alex?”

Alexander eagerly nodded. “Let’s play. I’ve never played, but I know how to. I’ve seen other people do it before. Lafayette?”

Lafayette rested his pen upon his notebook of songs, and joined the circle. “For you, Alexander.”

“My man,” replied Alexander.

“Okay,” started Laurens. “Who’s going to go first? I suppose I will.” The room silenced quickly, the only noise coming from the breathing of the five boys. “Never have I ever… moved houses.”

Except for Thom, the other boys all put fingers down.

“That was a bit lame, Laurens, I have to admit. You live in an apartment. I’ll go next.” Thom established a counter-clockwise rotation for the players as Laurens jokingly pouted. “Never have I ever dyed my hair.”

Everyone lowered a finger. Thom raised an eyebrow. “Really? Everyone?”

John huffed. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas ‘I-don’t-know-how-to-dress-myself’ Jefferson.”

Laurens sighed. “Hey, hey, everyone, can we put aside personal grievances for once?”

“Okay, okay.” Thom concluded, holding up his proud ten fingers.

Alexander took a moment to ponder, before thinking of a statement sure to knock everyone’s fingers down besides his own. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”

To his surprise, only Thom put down a finger. There were no words wasted.

It was John Adams’s turn. Unpredictable and often unreliable, John excitedly murmured, “Never have I ever kissed a guy.”

After a moment of silence, he frowned. “Wait.” he angrily whispered as he blushed and lowered a finger. He looked at Thom, who then embarrassedly lowered his finger as well.

Laurens waved his finger between Thom and John. “Wait… you don’t mean you two…?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The two said in unison.

“Oh my god,” whispered Laurens to himself.

Alexander counted everyone’s totals quickly. “So John Laurens, Thom, and I are all at eight, and Lafayette and John Adams are both at seven. Got it.”

Lafayette gave a sly grin before he started, “Never have I ever been a citizen of the United States of America.”

“Well played, Lafayette.” Laurens commented. “Okay… never have I ever referred to an animated character as my wife.”

Thom and John Adams both groaned. Alexander noticed that the two had more in common than he had previously thought.

John sighed heavily. “One hand left.”

Thom blushed profusely, embarrassed. “This game never fares my reputation well, does it… my turn?” he asked rhetorically. “Never have I ever, um, been in love.”

“That’s it! That’s such a lie.” exclaimed John Adams, standing up. “I’m out. Leave me the fuck alone, Thomas Jefferson!” John exited the room, slamming the door behind him. Alexander felt the tension in the room grow upon him in thick layers. Lafayette remained silent.

Laurens pointed a finger at the newly-closed door, and made eye contact with Thom. “Leave.” He demanded, his unforgiving gaze unmoving. “Too fucking far. Go. Now.”

Alexander felt the room lighten a bit as Thom drudged out, yet he still required an explanation to what had just happened. A self-proclaimed expert at social situations, he could not figure out the discord. In addition, he was surprised at how stern Laurens was able to become in a situation which required sternness.

“Wha-” began Alexander, before he was interrupted by none other than Laurens.

“They have a history. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but it’s for the better if you know right now.

“John’s in love with Thom.” Laurens dropped the heavy statement, implying much. “He’s been in love with Thom for years now, and, of course, Thom tries to rile him up about it as much as possible.” Laurens sighed. “I don’t really know the full story there.”

“Oh.” was Alexander’s only response. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.”

“I don’t think he meant it in a way to upset other John, but other John is kind of…”

Lafayette finished his statement for him. “John Adams is bad-tempered. Thom needed to think before he spoke.”

“But I thought they-?”

“Their relationship is incredibly dynamic; nobody other than them can really understand it. For starters, other John is interesting. Nothing bad. And Thom’s the cocky douchebag prodigy kid who nobody can get enough of.”

Once again, Lafayette interjected. “They will never be together, no matter how they want to be.”

The trio in the English room could hear Thom and John arguing outside.

“Thom, what the fuck?! You know exactly what you’re doing, and you love it, don’t you?”

“John, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You know what you do to m-” John’s statement was suddenly cut off, both Thom and John going silent for a moment. It was John who spoke again afterward.

“Thom…”

“John, let’s get out of here.”

“Hm.” John concluded, followed by more silence.

In the room, Laurens listened intently before commenting, “They’re not coming back. This shouldn’t be the way things work in real life, is it?”

Alexander sighed at the loss of his two friends, and turned back towards Laurens and Lafayette. “So, um, do either of you have any plans for the weekend?” he awkwardly tried to start another conversation.

“Let’s go see a movie.” suggested Lafayette.

“I’m in.” said Laurens.

“Me as well.” Commented Alexander.

“In front of the theater at 5:00 on Saturday?” asked Laurens.

“That sounds feasible.” Confirmed Alexander.

“Feasible?” asked Lafayette.

Alexander attempted to explain the word as well as he could. “It means possible or probable.”

“I see. Feasible.” Lafayette repeated as the bell to end class rang.

Laurens sighed once again. “They’re not going to be suspended for leaving because the Thom always gets away with everything. Whatever.” The bell rang, as if to punctuate Laurens’s sentence.

“See you later, Alex, Lafayette.”

“See you.”

°°°°°

The rest of Alexander’s day passed without hindrance as he went through his remaining six periods. At lunchtime, he sat with Laurens and Lafayette. Ignoring the topic of the events that unfolded earlier that day, the three chatted about seemingly menial topics. Alexander learned that Lafayette and Laurens were both members of the clubs he wished to participate in, which was the deciding factor in joining. Although he usually was not coerced into or out of something by his opinion of the people in it, it had been a prospect on his table to begin with.

Alexander enjoyed his Spanish and Latin classes, as well as his European history class. He didn’t enjoy mathematics, as it was not his strong suit; however, he strived to achieve a level of greatness all the same. It didn’t always work. He learned a few names in each of his classes and moved on. It was only after school when another moment of interest came for Alexander.

“Model United Nations.” He mumbled as he walked along the hallway, looking for room 212. He chuckled, as 212 was the area code for New York City. He knew it wasn’t funny, but it reminded him of the memories he had made in his previous settlement. “Ah, here it is.” Alex pointed out as he opened the door. Inside, he saw a small array of people, mostly faces he had met before.

“Alex!” Washington called out from the front of the room. “You’ll be joining the club?”

“That is my plan, yes.”

“Excellent. I’m the club president.” chirped George Washington. Alex smiled at this, because he couldn’t help but think Washington’s happiness was a bit cute. “Let me show you around. You already know…?”

“I’m familiar with John Laurens and Lafayette, as well as Thom and John Adams. They,” Alexander coughed. “left school earlier today.”

Contrasting with his previous peachiness, Washington frowned. “We can work around that.” Clearing his throat loudly, Washington called attention to himself and to Alexander. “Everyone, we have a new recruit today. This is Alexander Hamilton. Alex, introduce yourself.”

“Before last week, I lived in New York City. Other than Model UN, I’m planning on joining stock market club and debate team. You can call me Alex if you would like.” When he finished his generic introduction, Laurens winked at him. Alexander felt the tips of his ears turn pink.

Alexander continued his brief introduction. “I’ve met some of the people in this club, including George Washington, Thom, John Laurens, Lafayette, and John Adams. If everyone else could introduce themselves, I would greatly appreciate it. That’s all I have to say.”

There was only one people in the room whom Alexander hadn’t made the acquaintance of yet.

“Nice to meet you, Alexander. I’m Angelica Schuyler. Welcome to Frederick.” said the only girl in the club as Alexander realized that 5,500 words and 15 pages in, there hadn’t been a single prominent female character introduced. Alexander briefly considered the prospect of passing the Bechdel test during this scene, before realizing that, unfortunately, women are rarely acknowledged in history and so passing the Bechdel test was irrelevant at the time. He apologized mentally for the lack of progressiveness in terms of gender in this narrative, before moving on.

Alexander outstretched his hand to Angelica, who took it warmly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Alexander Hamilton, but I believe you already know that.” Angelica huffed at Alexander’s last statement, acknowledging Alexander’s fruitless attempt at humor; however, she found it endearing.

Alexander walked back to the front of the room, where the other members of the club had created a congregation with the desks in the shape of a circle. He saw that the desk in between John Laurens and Washington had been left empty, presumably for him. He sat down in the midst of a speech being given by Washington.

“This club may be entering its final days.” He heard Washington say. “We’re hanging on by a thread as it is, and, not to sound boastful, but that’s only due to the fact that I have the highest grade point average in the senior class. George Frederick hates us, because he hates me. There’s no doubt that he’ll force us to be underfunded. Our supervisor doesn’t even come to begin with.”

“Brilliant.” thought Alexander. “It’s my first day here and we’re already facing threat to be shut down. I may have walked into the middle of a shonen manga.”

“So, we’re going to need ideas.” Continued Washington. “Anyone?”

Lafayette raised his hand, immediately called upon by Washington. “We integrate into world studies club. It is the only way.”

“No.” Washington declined without missing a beat. “Anyone else?”

Lafayette once again raised his hand. Washington sighed before compelling him to speak. “Thom puts on charity concerts for us.”

“I can never tell if you’re being serious or not, but that’s actually the best prospect we have right now.”

“Finance committee?” Alexander murmured, suggesting his best idea.

“You see, Alex, that’s the problem.” explained Washington. “George Frederick is the leader of finance committee. We can only work independently of them.”

Washington grimaced, as did many of the people sitting around him. “Frederick is an interesting fellow, all right. We used to be good friends, before he began to resent me for achieving more than he was able to.” It was evident that he was not boasting; he was merely recounting the past. Washington continued divulging the past. “I’ve made sure to stay absolutely clean for the past few years, so I can, and pardon my French-”

“Pardoned.” interrupted Lafayette. A few grins were cracked, abruptly ending as Washington continued his tale.

“Right. Anyway, I haven’t done anything questionable so I can call bullshit if I get expelled.” Alexander noted that Washington’s language became far more colloquial as he grew enraged. This was partially Lafayette’s fault. “So in essence, I put up with Frederick’s garbage so I don’t get expelled for bullying or something.”

There was a loud noise from the doorway. There, disheveled and out of breath, John Adams and Thom stood. Startled, the members of Model UN turned around in their seats to look at them.

Laurens was the first to overcome the surprise of Adams and Thom. “You weren’t wearing that scarf before, John. It’s a nice scarf.” He commented nonchalantly. John blushed, out of breath from running up the stairs.

Thom put his hands on a desk, nearly keeling over. “Sprinted here…” he panted, “from… … … … country assignments today?”

“My apologies, Thom, but we receive our countries tomorrow.”

“Thomas out.” Thom exclaimed as he left the room.

“John, welcome, my friend.” Lafayette pointed to an empty seat in the room. “I was, euh, wondering if you will come.”

“John? Good to see that you’re doing fine.” Alexander disclosed.

“Where have you two been?” Angelica demanded.

Washington clapped his hands together loudly in order to garner attention. “Clearly,” he started, “we’ve gotten too off-track to accomplish anything today. This is a mess, and we need more time to think of ideas. We have another meeting tomorrow at the same time. We’ll get country assignments and a list of topics. Dismissed.”

Alexander, Laurens, John, and Lafayette immediately exited the room. “Later, George!” Laurens called. He did not wait for a response.

Once outside, John was immediately pestered regarding his former whereabouts; however, he ignored all questions directed towards him, instead smiling nervously until they had left the building and were a considerable distance onto the parking lot.

“Okay, now I’ll tell you. I can’t disclose important information in front of the security cameras. I don’t know what happens with that footage and I don’t wish to find out.”

“So?” asked Laurens.

“So what?”

“What have you and Thom been up to?”

The tension in the atmosphere was heavy. ‘This institution is far too intense to be a high school.’ thought Alexander.

John took a deep breath before formulating his response. “Nothing much happened.”

“…Oh.” Lafayette replied, disappointed in the lack of new developments.

“I fucked Thom.” admitted John, in a complete change of thesis.

“Oh my god.” breathed Laurens. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. Um.” The four were all unsure how to carry on the conversation.

Laurens started again. “Does anyone have a large amount of work tonight? My apartment isn’t far from here; we could all…?

Alexander sighed. “I’m taking you up on that offer.”

“I am with Alexander.” said Lafayette.

The three turned around to look at John, who twiddled his thumbs out of social anxiety. “Why not?” he replied. “It’s not like I’m getting anything done today anyway. Shotgun.”

The four walked to Laurens’s beat-up, rusty station wagon. It was evidently close to dying, but Laurens treated his car with love and care, spending hours fixing her by hand whenever she broke down. Needless to say, this happened often.

“Alexander, this is Rita. Lafayette and other John have met her many times before. Just make sure you don’t close her doors too hard.”

When John opened the front door, he winced at the sudden movement. “God damn this hurts,” he groaned.

“Brag about it,” muttered Alexander in return.

°°°°°

“Okay everyone,” said Laurens, opening the door to his apartment, “I just bought a box of granola bars yesterday. Does anyone want one?”

There was a chorus of ‘yes’ and ‘that would be nice’. The group sat down at Lauren’s small, uneven kitchen table. It wobbled, one leg being shorter than the others.” As John Laurens opened the box of granola bars, Alexander asked, “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” Laurens replied, fiddling with the cardboard flaps of the box. “My dad works in Florida, and I didn’t want to relocate when he moved, so I picked up some work in order to pay the rent.”

“What do you do?”

“Ehe, I mostly work odd jobs. Right now I’m part-timing at an animal shelter and simultaneously trying to establish a web design business. Rent isn’t that expensive because my landlord takes pity on me.” Laurens sighed.

‘Working at an animal shelter? That’s kind of hot.’ thought Alexander absentmindedly.

‘Alexander, you’re being creepy.’ He immediately thought afterward. ‘Stop it.’

‘I love cats.’

There was a lull in the conversation, which Lafayette ended. “Granola bars? These are good.”

“Hm.” replied John.

As the group finished their granola, Laurens pressed John further. “Adams, tell us what happened.”

Lafayette joined in. “Do it, Adams.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But not in great detail.” John shrugged.

Alexander, Laurens, and Lafayette listened intently as John recounted the events which had unfolded earlier. “We both left campus after we got into an argument. We went to the rose garden, where we argued more about… stuff. Shit’s heated, man. And then Thom comes up to me, really close, and whispers in my ear, ‘I don’t know if you want me as much as I want you but we should fuck right now.’ So that’s what happened. Oh, and then afterwards Thom wanted to see if country assignments came in yet. That’s what happened.”

Laurens shook his head. “Why the scarf? You weren’t wearing that before.”

John blushed. “It’s because- I- um. Yeah.” He took off his scarf slowly, revealing purple bite marks on his neck. “I’m going to have to wear this for a while.” John awkwardly put his scarf back on.

“How was it?” Lafayette inquired.

John seriously thought about it for a moment before answering. He breathed deeply. “I don’t want to talk about it until we all get to know Alex more. I don’t want another Burr incident…”

“I understand,” Alexander interjected before he could finish the sentence.

“It feels as if we’ve known you longer than ten hours.” commented Laurens.

“Yeah,” sighed Alexander. “I feel the same.”

John shuddered. “Burr…”

“If nobody minds, may I ask, who is Burr?” To Alexander’s surprise, both Lafayette and Laurens grimaced.

“He is not pleasant.” answered Lafayette. “He is, how does one say…”

“A hypocrite.” Finished Laurens. “Let’s leave it at that for now. I, uh, have some, uh, history with him.” He thought for a minute. “Do you guys want to play board games or something?”

Adams was the one to reply first to the proposition. “Get ready for me to kick your ass.”

°°°°°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I fit all of the teen angst I never experienced into one long narrative?  
> I'm adding discussion questions to the end of every chapter because I, personally, love discussion questions. (Hey, that's actually my main speech event!)  
> Discussion question: Why are Thom and John bitter about something they never had?


	2. Living in the Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the unresolved tension starts and where the fuck is John Laurens when you need him to settle an argument.

Alexander felt uneasy at the thought of returning to school, due to the prospect of facing Thom. He didn’t know if he could look at him in the same way after what John had told the group the previous day. Alexander still liked Thom, but was wary of his discreet manipulative nature. He sighed, and left his place of residence.

On Alex’s walk to Frederick High School, he was passed by a familiar blue and dented vehicle. “Rita.” He murmured. The vehicle slowed down several yards down the road, and an alert John Laurens rolled down the window.

“Hey, Alex! It’s pretty cold! Would you like a ride to school?”

Alex looked up from the sidewalk. “Really?” Alex was happy to see Laurens. He was already in Alex’s list of top 5 favorite people.

“Of course! Come on!”

Alex ran a few yards ahead, and opened Rita’s right passenger door. “Good morning, John Laurens.”

“Mornin’! How are you, starshine?”

“Starshine?” Alex grinned.

“I thought it was a cute nickname.” Laurens mumbled as he began to accelerate.

’ _ Is this what they call flirting??’  _ wondered Alex. “And you, moonshine?”

Laurens chuckled a mighty chuckle. “Hunky dory. Do you walk to school every day?”

“It’s only my second day, but that’s my plan.”

“Alex, it’s forty minutes walking from where I picked you up.”

“I know. I walked yesterday.”

“It gets  _ cold _ in the winter. It’s cold already, and it’s only October.” Laurens thought for a solution to Alexander’s problem. “I could give you a ride to school every day, probably.”

“Laurens, you’re too kind. I can’t accept an offer that generous, especially when I’ve known you for less than a day now.”

“Sure, you can. If you’d feel bad about accepting, maybe you could help me fill up the tank every now and then.” Laurens winked into the rearview mirror. ”Rita’s getting old. I don’t believe she’ll last too much longer. An extra person couldn’t hurt her at this point.” Laurens pointed out.

“Well, then, sounds like a plan. You’ll drive me, and I’ll help you fill her tank.”

It always warmed Laurens’s heart when others used pronouns for Rita as if she were a human being. He knew it was a bit silly, and he had been chastised for it in the past. However, he had grown up around Rita and had a deep emotional attachment to her. He had noticed that she had run more smoothly both times Alexander had been with him, or maybe he had merely imagined it.

“You live around here?” asked Laurens.

“Fairly nearby.” answered Alexander. “I don’t remember the address yet, but I remember where it is, which is good enough for now.” The second part of the statement was a lie. Alexander wanted to hide his place of residence from others for as long as possible, for fear of being seen as an outsider.

°°°°°

Thom walked into the orchestra room ten minutes late with an unexcused tardy. However, he didn’t receive any negative repercussions. He groggily walked to the room, clawing open the door. His appearance was an uncharacteristic mess. His eyes had dark circles around them, and his clothes were an unmatched mess.

“Thom.” said Ms. Chase, startled that her star student was late. In their years of partnership, she had never seen him like this. “You’re… late. Don’t let it happen again.”

Thom grabbed his cello and music stand and stumbled his way to the practice room. He knocked on the door, which Alexander opened gingerly. However, his expression dropped as he saw Thom’s half-dead face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had a hangover all day.” Thom answered. The light streaming through the window made his head pound. “Fuck.” Thom’s movements were slow and heavy, rather than graceful as they had been the previous day.

“And you _drove here_ on your own?”

“I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. Can you do me a favor and close the blinds?”

“You need to go home immediately.”

“I’m probably fine. I don’t have any exams today.”

‘ _That’s not the problem here_ ,’ he thought. Alexander, a fervent liar when it was necessary, knew that this was a lie. He was able to smell alcohol on Thom. ‘ _Underage drinking is unethical.’_ he thought. ‘ _Whatever.’_

“How much of what did you drink?” Alexander queried.

“I did six shots of vodka in an hour. So much regret.” Thom groaned a deep groan. “My parents are out of town a lot.”

Alexander sighed. “You’re totally incapacitated. You’re not picking up a cello today.”

“I believe I can live with that.” Thom paused for a moment, thinking deeply. “John told you what happened, didn’t he?” asked Thom. He grimaced.

“Most of it. He told us the part about your argument, and, um, the part where you had sex.” Alexander felt awkward about this, but Thom was unfazed.  “He didn’t talk about how you both got drunk. I deduced that part.”

“Of course he would.” Thom frowned, but he wasn’t truly upset. He expected this from John. Thom sighed, rubbing his dry eyes until they felt substantially moist. “John has a large mouth for one so small.”

“He’s not that small.” Alexander immediately retorted. “We’re approximately the same height.”

“How tall are both of you?” Thom’s question was laced with snobbiness.

“I’m around five feet and seven inches. This statistic is most likely outdated, though.”

Thom yawned. “I’m six feet and two inches. Almost everyone is _small_ to me.”

Alexander was beginning to be annoyed by Thom’s pretentiousness. After all, who spelled their name as Thom when Tom worked as an acceptable alternative?

Thom continued. “The imperial of system of measurement is terrible. We should switch to the metric system already.”

Alexander agreed wholeheartedly, but he wished to oppose Thom for the sake of opposing Thom. “I disagree. In a post-industrial world, switching to the metric system would only lead to waste and confusion. There are simply too many objects to replace. Perhaps conversion would work in a smaller country, but it’s impossible to fathom in a power such as the United States.”

“Is that it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Is that your entire argument for the imperial system of measurement?” Thom paused for a moment, but he wasn’t waiting for Alexander to reply. Instead, he was waiting for the full force of his insult to come forward.

Before Alexander could respond, Thom continued making his point. “The metric system is clearly the better system due to the simplicity of conversion.” Thom’s loud, clear voice made his head hurt. He continued in a quieter tone. “Twelve inches in a foot and three feet in a yard? Seriously? You’re defending this? In the metric system, conversions are simple and are thoughtless to do. I can convert liters to milliliters in a single second, yet I’m still unaware how many ounces are in a cup or how many ounces are in a pound. Although this wouldn’t be an issue if the imperial system was commonly used, conversions between metric and imperial are unbearable.”

“You see, you’re wrong. The metric system may be useful for sciences and conversions, but for everyday life the imperial system provides a much better alternative. Measuring yourself in centimeters is ridiculous! The metric system doesn’t provide a substantial unit in between centimeters and meters, and it’s considerably more difficult to eye either of those units that it is to eye the number of feet in a given distance.”

“You were the one who measured distance in yards earlier in this very part of the narrative! You have no right to speak for the practicality of meters when the two units are _extremely_ similar, sir one hundred and seventy centimeters.” Thom pulled out a pair of glasses from his pocket, perfectly polished. Alexander was certain that he kept these glasses only to look more intelligent when he made points. He followed suit, donning his own pair of reading glasses.

Despite initially merely playing devil’s advocate, Alexander grew heated and engrossed in this debate. His points had been mostly created spuriously, and he agreed almost wholeheartedly with Thomas Jefferson; however, he did _not_ want to admit that he had been wrong the entire time. He did not want to let Thom continue believing that his arguments were perfect and unparalleled.

“Thanks for informing me of my height. I’m actually surprised you managed to do conversions when your head is in the fucking clouds all the time. And, for that matter, are conver-” Alexander stopped his sentence as Thom suddenly slumped over, resting against his unused music stand.

“You’re wrong and I’m sleeping.” Thom mumbled, his head in his arms. It wasn’t long before his breathing became regular and he was asleep.

Alexander briefly considered tying his sleek leather shoes together, before deciding the action was too petty, even for himself. Although Alexander did not like to admit it, he had the tendency to be extremely petty at times.

Despite his hard feelings towards Thom, Alexander couldn’t help but notice how peaceful he was as he was sleeping. Thom looked like a mess, but his unkempt appearance looked somehow fitting at the moment. Alexander felt a need to sketch Thom as he was at the moment, before he realized he had had little to no experience in the field of artwork; instead, he fished his outdated flip phone from his pocket and took a picture of the other boy.

‘ _Well, if anyone else sees this, my life is over.’_ he thought as he flipped his phone closed. Flipping his phone closed always gave Alex a small feeling of satisfaction, most likely because he rarely had the need to open it in the first place. Perhaps it was because of the suitable name for the model of cell phone. On occasion, he enjoyed playing with the clip-art feature in moments of idleness. He put his phone inside his pocket once again.

Alexander sighed, reaching into his backpack. He rummaged around for a bit, before he pulled out a battered paperback. He began to read the riveting work, aspiring to be able to write like it someday. Alex didn’t merely want to spend his life working nine to five, buying a few things, and dying; instead, he wanted to inspire others with his own ideas. He buried his nose in the book.

Approximately ten minutes later, a boy opened the door to the practice room where Alex was aggressively reading, and Thom was still napping on the music stand. He was shorter than both of the boys in the room. He had a sharp heart-shaped face, a bit reminiscent of a hawk. However, his presence was small and quiet. Alexander did not notice him open the door until he coughed.

“Can I help you?” asked Alexander, slightly startled. He was intrigued by the other boy, mainly due to his height. It wasn’t often that he met someone shorter than himself.

“Hi, I’m James Madison.” James looked at the floor, rather than at Alexander. He pointed to Thom in his bliss. “Is he…?”

“Out cold. I’m Alexander Hamilton, by the way, but Alex is also acceptable.” Alexander answered, inferring the rest of Madison’s question.

“I see.” James walked over to Thom, lightly thumping him on the head with his books. Thom woke up quickly, dazed by the sudden interruption to his sleep.

Thom groaned. “What’s goin- Jamie? What’s up?”

“You’re hungover again?” James appeared to be exasperated at Thom, used to his behavior. Alexander silently wondered how often Thom came to school hungover.

“You know me well.” Thom thought for a moment. “Music theory?”

Unlike his encounter with Alexander, James made constant eye contact with Thom. Alexander assumed that the two were good friends. He even offered Thom his water bottle, which he took a long drink from before handing it back to James.

“Right. I want you to quiz me on my key signatures again.” James’s voice quieted when he made his request. “I’m down to thirty seconds.” The last sentence came out as little more than a whisper.

‘ _James is too shy for his own good.’_ thought Alexander. ‘ _If the guy knew how to give a good glare, it would probably make the other person’s eyes bleed.’_

“You’re beaten my record by about ten seconds.” Thom grinned. It was unusual to see him excited due to someone else’s success, much less his own defeat. “Take a seat,” Thom gestured. Even for a close friend such as Thom, a smile was a rare occurrence for James.

As Alexander gathered his things and opened the door, Thom called out to him. “Alex, tell everyone I have things to do.”

Without turning around, Alexander waved his hand back and forth. “Sure. See you later.”

°°°°°

In the English classroom, John Laurens became embittered. Laurens considered to be the doting mother of the friend group, the one who would most always lend a hand, even if it set himself behind. However, there were two people he could not bear to stand. These two people left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Although they had no direct effect on his life, he resented them.

“Thom told me to tell you all that he’s busy this period.” Alexander recalled, closing the door behind him. “He wasn’t present in chemistry, but he came to orchestra ten minutes late with a hangover.”

As Alexander looked around, he noticed that John wasn’t in the room. He assumed that he had stayed home for the day, presumably making up late work and acquainting himself with his suppressed feelings.

“Great.” Laurens huffed with a bitterness Alexander did not know he possessed. “Great. Thom’s parents are out of town, and he’s been once again engrossed in his love affair with the liquor cabinet.”

Lafayette was at his usual spot at the end of the table, writing poetry in his notebook. His handwriting was fast and illegible to all but himself. He did not appear to be giving any attention to the matter at hand, but as always, he was quietly listening. Lafayette had learned to be observant over a matter of years, out of necessity.

“Poor _Thomas._ ” Lafayette said with compassion. “He is well on his way to becoming an alcoholic.”

“What do you mean?” asked Alexander. He knew Thom’s habit of underage drinking wasn’t unprecedented, but he didn’t expect it to be such a common occurrence.

Laurens, still in a small fit of rage, explained Thom’s current situation to him. “Thom’s parents, _Jane_ and _Peter_ , are out of town often. He mostly lives alone in their enormous estate. He’s lonely. I know what it’s like. God, I hate them. I’m counting on you guys to not tell Thom I said that, though.”

“Guy’s a genius.” Laurens continued, but with an expression of melancholy instead of furiousness. “That’s really all he is to anyone. There’s not much more I can say about him, though. You’ll have to ask Thom about it. He can talk shit about his parents for hours.”

Lafayette nodded. “What he says is true. Thomas’s family has money, but they lack the ability to be a familyHe looked at the floor. Although it was the truth, Lafayette did not enjoy commentating on the personal lives of others. He knew more on the subject than either of the other two in the room, but he preferred to remain silent.

Alexander looked at the floor remembering his family. It was small and dysfunctional, but it held a place in his heart. Alexander didn’t know much about family; he couldn’t truly relate to the struggles of others.

“So,” Laurens once again broke the silence in the room, “are either of you finished with the English assignment yet?”

“ _Shit_.” Alexander mumbled under his breath. “There’s an English assignment?”

The rest of the day passed slowly for Alexander. Even government, one of Alexander’s favorite classes, felt like a lifetime. ‘ _Fifteen more minutes,_ ’ he thought during every class period. Although he was not one to dismiss the importance of school, he was eagerly awaiting country and partner assignments for model UN. It would be his first conference.

When the time finally came, nobody besides Thom and Alexander were surprised by the list of partnerships. Laurens and Lafayette were paired together, as expected, in addition to the dynamic duo of Washington and Angelica. Alexander and Thom were partnered together.

“Thom, we know you usually work on your own,” explained Washington, “but Alex just joined and someone’s going to have to show him the ropes.”

Thomas Jefferson was not happy about this. “I see,” he retorted, unwilling to show the weakness of disappointment. He didn’t mind working with Alexander as much as he minded being assigned _Malaysia_ as his country to represent. Thom was generally accustomed to representing one of the permanent members of the Security Council, a country which had power. He sighed deeply.

“Let’s do this, Alexander,” he said, but his true thoughts were along the lines of, ‘ _Why isn’t James in model UN? Why did Sam have to graduate?’_

“Remember,” Thom heard Washington say. “this conference is in two weeks, and it may very well be our last conference, so I want everyone to put their all into researching and writing opening statements. We have practice on Monday and Thursday both weeks until then. Dismissed.”

°°°°°

The remainder of the week passed quickly for Alexander, and soon it was the weekend. Normally, weekends were dreaded because it was a time of idleness, and time in which nothing would get done regardless of time spent. In his last locations, Alexander did not have the means to go anywhere on his days off; instead, he wasted away in his abode for the two days. However, today was different.

As Alexander woke up, he remembered of his plans to meet Lafayette and John Laurens at the movie theater for a weekend rendezvous at two thirty. He figured it would not be difficult to figure out the way on his own, as public transport was copious and inexpensive.

Alexander set out on his quest two hours early, as he wanted time to explore the area before meeting Lafayette and Laurens for their plans. As Alexander made his way to the closest bus station, he noticed that the buses here were drastically different from those in New York. He felt a pang of something sorrowful, but decided to ignore it.

°°°°°

“Man, that was a terrible movie.”  John Laurens stated as he, Alexander, and Lafayette exited the theater several hours later.

“I disagree,” said Alexander, looking at the ceiling above him. There were several displays hanging from the ceiling, hanging from exposed metal rods. It was the largest theater Alexander had ever been in.

Lafayette nodded. “I agree with Alexander. I enjoyed the film.”

“Compared to the original, it was terrible. The characterization was off, the pacing was _terrible,_ and, worst of all, the villain was lame.”

“You’re forgetting, Laurens, Lafayette and I haven’t seen the original. Objectively speaking, this film was fresh. Lafayette?” Alexander gestured for Lafayette to give his opinion.

“The- euh- special effects were very well incorporated into the background, and it was an exciting plot.” Lafayette rolled his eyes to the top right, a habit he had the tendency to do when he was thinking. As Laurens held open the door to exit the theater, he continued his sentence. “I cannot properly evaluate it, as I don’t watch American films often.”

Although the sky was covered in clouds, the outside was bright. The three sat at a round table to continue their discussion.

“I don’t watch many films.” Alexander admitted. “I haven’t seen any of the ones which are always spoken about. So I suppose I can’t properly evaluate it either, but in the mindset of someone who has seen probably about fifteen films total, it was a winner. However, the effects were spectacular.”

Laurens’s eyebrows shot up. “Fifteen? You mean neither of you have seen any of the classics?”

“Classics?” asked Alex and Lafayette simultaneously.

“You know, films like _Star Wars_ , _Vertigo_ , _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_?”

“You lost me after _Star Wars,”_ said Lafayette, as Alexander merely shook his head.

“Oh, man.” Laurens shook his head. “I love film. I’m going to have to show you guys all of these.” He had a dreamy expression on his face, an expression Alexander knew he would never see outside of Laurens’s passion for film. “Today’s film industry has a lot of issues, and that’s why I’m going to be the one to fix it.”

“ _Cinéaste_?” Lafayette inquired.

Laurens happily nodded. “I love making short films, but I don’t have the means to do it that often, so I mostly end up making stop motion films.”

“I would love to watch them sometime.” Alexander smoothly interjected. _‘Oh yes, someone who’s politically aware,’_ he thought.

Laurens grinned. ”But of course.” Noticing the attention was on him, he changed the subject. “Lafayette, how’s your music… stuff going?”

Lafayette sighed. “It is going. I greatly miss my studio in France, but for now, my guitar is enough.”

“Which instruments do you play?” inquired Alexander. He was interested in those who possessed skills he did not have.

Lafayette counted on his fingers. “Piano, guitar, bass guitar, and violin fluently, but…” he took a moment to think. “I have been trying to learn the ukulele and, euh, synthesizer.”

“Impressive,” commented Alexander, genuinely impressed.

“Thank you.”

Alexander continued. “I can hardly hold a cello without dropping it. I can remember note names, but whenever my fingers get close to the strings, I fumble everything up.”

Laurens had been halfheartedly listening, instead searching through the file system of his cell phone for something. When he finally found it, his face lit up.

“Lafayette, Alex, I found one of my films on here. It’s only about two minutes long, but do you guys want to watch it? I mean, only if you wan-” he was suddenly cut off.

“Of course!” Alexander cut him off.

As Laurens had stated, the film was relatively short; however, it was well-made and clearly required a great amount of effort from the creator. It was about cats, which Alexander particularly enjoyed.

“ _This is so cute,_ ” breathed Alexander. _“I love cats.”_

“ _Miaou,”_ whispered Lafayette. Unlike many men, he was not ashamed of enjoying cute things.

“Thanks, everyone.” Laurens was proud of his work. “I love cats.”

“ _Play it again,”_ demanded Alexander. When it was played again, he looked closer at the detail involved in the film. He was astonished at what he saw.

“Laurens,” he called, although he knew John Laurens was already watching his expressions.

“Yes?” Laurens beamed.

“Did you… make _all of this_ out of construction paper?”

“Yes! It took a really long time, but clay is really expensive, so I just-”

“Incredible.” Lafayette breathed.

Alex looked up at Laurens. “You’re amazing,” he said. “I doubt that anyone else has that much resolve for their passion. You’re amazing.”

John Laurens was many things, many of them seemingly uncharacteristic for someone such as himself. John Laurens was not a man who was complimented often, preferring to silently watch as others benefitted from his actions. He wasn’t one who wanted constant attention, preferring to run metaphorical sets instead of acting on stage.

It wasn’t oftentimes that John Laurens was a truly happy man, but this was one of them.

°°°°°

After the movie date of Lafayette, John Laurens, and Alexander, Lafayette was exhausted. Although the Frenchman had remarkable stamina while doing physical activity, spending time with others left him worn-out and in need of rest. It was dark when he arrived at his place of residence. He immediately went up to his room and began to unwind.

Lafayette heard a knock on the door, along with a voice calling, “Lafayette!” He opened the door, only to see a weary-looking Thom.

“Thom, you look terrible,” Lafayette said redundantly. “Sit down.” He gestured to one of the two chairs in the room.

Although Thom wasn’t hungover or drunk, he somehow looked worse than when he was. His eyes were red, and his hands were shaking. “Lafayette,” he started. “I’ve had a bad day.”

Lafayette didn’t know how to react. “Let me, euh,” he said as he left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a mug of steaming water and a teabag of lapsang souchong. He handed both to Thom, who promptly put the tea to steep.

Although it was usual for Thom to make a mess of himself every few months or so, it usually only lasted for a day or so. Lafayette was beginning to become very worried for his sake.

“Thom, what’s wrong?” asked Lafayette. “ _Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?”_

“It’s so bad, Lafayette. I feel like I’m the most mutually disliked person ever. I don’t have any friends. Nobody wants anything to do with me. I’m sorry you have to put up with me all the time,” said Thom as he started tearing up. It wasn’t often that Thom showed any emotion besides annoyance or pride. “Maybe I should just leave. You know what, actually, just forget it.” Thom grabbed his mug of tea and started to leave.

Lafayette stopped him. “Thom, honestly, what the fuck,” Lafayette commented.  “You have been acting strange since Alexander arrived,” Lafayette paused to check his watch, “five days ago.”

Thom grumbled at the mention of Alexander. “Everyone likes him more than they ever liked me and it’s only been,” Thom checked his watch for emphasis, “five days.”

Lafayette sighed. “That is not even true, _Thomas._ ”

Thom buried his face in his hands, unwilling to let anyone else see him cry. “I’m so lonely all the time and I don’t know how to change anything.” Thom suddenly wiped off his face and sat up straight. In the space of two seconds, his emotions had changed completely. “Well, that’s _fine_ then! I don’t _need_ anyone else. I’m fine.”

“You need to eat something.”

Thom sighed. “That’s probably the case. But Lafayette,” Thom paused.

“Yes?”

“I feel terrible about using John the way I did. I didn’t want him to resent me, so I-” Thom paused. “mm.” he mumbled. “I have feelings for him, but just not in the same way he has feelings for me. I mean, I would do it again, but not in the same way.” Thom paused, contemplating everything. “Will you just hold me for a really long time?” asked Thom.

“You never change,” said Lafayette. “You must learn to take, euh, responsibility for your actions someday. And stop drinking so much alcohol. It is not good for you.” Lafayette moved over to comfort Thom on the armchair where he was seated.

“You have no idea how grateful I am to you for putting up with all of my shit.” Thom breathed, his breaths becoming more and more regular as he continued to drink his tea. “And yeah, I’ll try. Shit’s doing bad things to me.”

“ _This is gay_ ,” whispered Lafayette. “ _Thom, we’re stuck with each other for the next two years, regardless of how much we like each other.”_

“ _Lafayette, we’re both gay as fuck,”_ Thom whispered back, chuckling. “You know what, actually, I’m going to go wash my face and then make toast or something.” Thom nodded in accordance with his own plan. “That sounds good.”

“I am coming with you. Toast sounds good right now. With butter.” Lafayette hummed.

Thom grinned, his first grin in three days. “Are you finally going to try to drink milk?” he asked.

“No.” Lafayette made a face. “That is _horrible_.”

Although it wasn’t funny, Thom laughed because he hadn’t done so in a few days. “Okay, let’s go,” he insisted.

The two fell asleep side-by-side at the kitchen table that night, finally overcome by exhaustion. Thom wouldn’t touch a drop again for a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest chapter because I cut out about 3 pages of material about John Jay.  
> Thanks to the one person who left a comment on my last chapter.  
> Discussion question: why does Thom pretend to be everything he's not?


	3. Sum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thom, Alex, what are you doing?!

On Monday, Alexander Hamilton’s first Monday at Frederick High School, he sensed something different about Thomas Jefferson, but he couldn’t tell exactly what it was or if he had done anything. Although he was back from the emotional wreck he had been the week prior, he seemed colder than he had been before. There was less warmth in his eyes when he looked at Alexander, as opposed to the warmth he had when he looked at Laurens or Lafayette.

Alexander knew that Thom wasn’t a heartless being, but he would do many unsavory things to preserve his name. He wasn’t sure that even Thom was aware that there was a slight difference in his actions, but it was certainly there. Alexander didn’t know what he did wrong. He found it difficult to analyze Thom, something which was not so with most people. He put the thought in the back of his mind and moved on.

Lafayette and Thom were the first familiar people Alexander and John Laurens encountered as they headed towards the entrance of the building; Laurens and Thom had used adjacent parking spaces, and they arrived at the same time. Although school would not commence for another half-hour, the parking lot was nearly full already.

“Thom, Lafayette, fancy meeting you here. Laurens commented as he exited Rita. He rubbed his hands together in order to combat the cold weather as he shivered. Alexander nearly offered his jacket, before remembering the height difference between them; the cold here was nothing compared to the cold of New York City.

Rather than addressing both Thom and Lafayette, Alexander addressed only Lafayette. “Lafayette, I didn’t know Thom was your host brother,” he commented.

“Yes,” replied Lafayette. “regularly, I do not go in a vehicle if he is at the wheel.”

Thom sullied at the criticism of his driving. “ _Lafayette,_ ” he hissed, but Lafayette, Laurens, and Alexander merely laughed and gave him knowing looks.

“It’s fucking _cold,”_ said Laurens, his teeth beginning to chatter. “Hate… cold… weather.” He was offered a thermos by Thom, which he gladly accepted. “What…. kind of tea… is this?” he inquired.

“It’s Yunnan.” Thom answered, clearly proud of his tea-snobbery. “Oolong is my favorite variety of tea.”

“I prefer coffee.” Lafayette commented as the four entered the building. Despite the number of cars outside, there were not many students present in the lobby of the school.

“Same,” added Alexander and Laurens.

Thom grimaced at the tastes of his companions. “You,” he paused for emphasis, “are all _disgusting_ human beings. I can’t believe this. God, you’re all going to suffer caffeine addictions at a young age.”

Laurens stopped Thom before he could insult coffee further. “Thom, you know that tea has a fair amount of caffeine as well?”

Thom sulked. “… yes.” It was not Thom’s morning to be praised. Lafayette thumped his lightly on the back of the head before the four parted ways until English class.

Alexander hadn’t taken ten steps before he was stopped by another party. This party had long-ish black hair and a wide forehead, lacking any other pronouncing features. Alex thought this was slightly humorous, because his lack of distinguishing features made him unique.

‘ _I don’t like to judge people based on appearances,’_ thought Alexander, ‘ _but man, this guy sure looks like a prick.’_ Alexander had noticed himself using more and more colloquial language over the course of the last week, and decided that swearing was a much more effective way to give someone’s general demeanor in some circumstances. This was one of them.

“Can I help you?” asked Alexander as he tried to swivel past the obstruction in question. Although he enjoyed a good argument, he was not in the mood for confrontation at the moment.

The other boy stopped Alexander in his tracks, unwilling to move aside. “Yeah. I need to talk to you about something.” His voice was somber and too serious for Alexander’s taste.

Alex _really_ didn’t want to talk to this guy, but he seemed as if he wouldn’t lay off until he got a word in. “I’ve never even met you before, but fine.” Alexander was led into an empty corridor, with no people nearby. He wondered where all the people were.

“I’m Aaron Burr,” said the other boy. Alexander thought back for a moment; the name _Burr_ seemed familiar to him, but he was too caught up in the moment to properly recall where he had heard it before.

“Alexander Hamilton.” Alex retorted. “Listen, I’m actually in a hurry, so…”

Aaron Burr cut off his sentence as he glowered. “Listen, you need to be wary around John Laurens.”

Alexander was taken aback. “Laurens? What do you-”

“He’s not the person you think he is.” Aaron answered for him. “You’re going to fall in with him, everyone can see it.”

“You and what party?” Alexander probed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, everyone can _see_ the way you look at John Laurens.” Aaron appeared to be highly uncomfortable, yet he felt that it was his mission to speak to Alexander. “Everyone knows you don’t have platonic feelings for him.”

The last statement was what made Alexander fume. He stormed out of the area. “Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me!” he called behind him.

Aaron Burr called to Alexander as he stormed off. “Do you ever wonder why none of the people you hang around have any friends besides each other?” He ignored this remark, deciding that Aaron Burr’s pursuits were not worth his time; however, it would haunt him for weeks to come.

When Alex made his way upstairs, he immediately ran into John Adams. On this particular day, John was good-tempered. He appeared to be writing some sort of manifesto inside the cover of his English book. Alexander didn’t want to guess what it was about.

“Hi, John.” Alexander sighed. John didn’t look up, as he was not used to being called by his first name. He decided to try again. “Hi, Adams.”

John looked up from his manifesto, nose and cheeks still red from the _cold_ winter air outside. He rubbed his eyes. “Hi Alex what’s u- oh _shit_ _my contact lens fell out!”_ John cursed as he picked up his fallen lens from the ground. “I’ll be back… probably.” John sighed as he headed towards the restroom in order to remove his other contact lens. True to his word, he returned within a few minutes, now donning a pair of unbelievably thick tortoiseshell glasses.

“ _Anyway,”_ began Alexander, unsure how to phrase what had just happened to him. “This asshole just pulled me into a corner and started saying shit such as, ‘ _listen, you need to be wary around John Laurens’_ and ‘ _do you ever wonder why none of your friends have any friends besides each other’._ ” Alexander said with a grimace. He was not above using a mocking tone to reverberate what Aaron Burr had said.

John thought or a moment before a look of realization struck him. “Alex, come with me.” He gestured. Alexander mentally groaned. It seemed to him as if he was being led into a lot of empty corridors lately.

John’s designated area was outside, through the door next to the staircase which Alexander had been confronted in. It was chilly by this point, but neither of the two seemed to mind the cold. John began to speak. “The guy who talked to you was that Aaron Burr, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, how did you know?” Alex inquired as he saw John heat up. Aaron’s name seemed familiar; perhaps it had sprung up at some point if John was complaining about him. John complained about others on a frequent basis.

“Alex, he’s-” John searched for the words to describe Burr as he appeared in his mind. “I don’t feel anything for him.”

“Excuse me?” Alexander was perplexed; John had strong opinions of everyone.

“I meant what I said. I don’t care about him enough to even feel hatred. I don’t feel anything for him.”

“What’s his deal?” asked Alexander, partially rhetorical.

John shrugged. “He essentially ruined John Laurens’s life a year or so ago.” The bell rang while he finished his sentence. “We can talk later,” he said as he scurried indoors.

“Wait, John.” Alex called, coming indoors. “We have the same first period class. Organic chemistry.” However, John was nowhere to be seen; he was fast.

°°°°°

Orchestra went by fairly quickly. Alexander made more acquaintance with that of James Madison.

°°°°°

Alexander eagerly awaited English class, as he badly wanted to hear the rest of John’s story of Aaron Burr and John Laurens. When the time finally came, he walked to their classroom, only to find John Adams waiting outside for him, carrying about a fifth of his weight in textbooks. His movements were weighed down under the extra stress.

“Alex. Let’s go somewhere isolated.” John gestured towards the stairwell, as the corridors always seemed to be empty. Alexander shrugged, and went along.

“So, what’s Aaron Burr’s deal?” asked Alexander. The matter troubled him so much so that he hadn’t been able to pay much attention in either chemistry or orchestra; however, it didn’t make much of a difference in his playing skills.

“His grandfather’s a pastor,” sighed John, leaning against the wall. He rubbed at his shoulders, for bruises were beginning to form on them from carrying so much weight. “He’s grown up with all this religious shit, so he forces it on other people.”

Alexander looked at him quizzically. “I don’t see his point about what he said.”

“What, the thing about none of us having any friends besides each other?” John asked as the two heard footsteps nearby. They froze, even though they were doing nothing wrong.

In a few moments, they saw none other than George Frederick walk by. Alexander hadn’t seen him directly interact with another being since his first day at school, and this was his first time seeing Frederick up close. He was tall and possessed a build akin to that of a soccer star. His face was round, with eyes seeming to constantly look down upon others. He could have been rather attractive; however, the air surrounding him was too self-confident.

As he passed, he looked down upon John and Alexander, who were both sitting on the floor in the opening of the staircase. His eyes skipped over John and immediately darted to Alex, who could feel his heart rate speed up considerably. Alex was not often one to be intimidated by others, but this was a completely new experience to him.

In that moment, Frederick completely changed his attitude. Although he was previously arrogant and cunning with a back which was perhaps _too_ straight, his face melted from its strict demeanor into a kind expression. Alexander relaxed considerably from his previous state.

Frederick began to speak. “You’re Alexander Hamilton?”

Alexander stood up to greet his upperclassman, who extended his hand. Although he didn’t want to, Alexander took it. “Yes, although some prefer to call me Alex. And you’re George Frederick?” he inquired, although he already knew the answer.

“Pleasure to meet you.” George smiled a gentle smile. “I’ve heard many good things about you.”

Internally, Alex cringed. There was something about George Frederick which seemed to welcoming, something which seemed inherently fake. His language seemed too mature and old-man-like for the age of eighteen or nineteen. “And you too. I’m glad to hear that people are saying good things about me.” Alexander did not provide a handle for Frederick to continue the conversation, as he wanted it to be over as soon as possible. However, Frederick continued anyway.

“You should join the drama club,” Frederick insisted to Alexander. “Or perhaps the finance committee.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but no thanks,” said Alex politely. “I have my hands full with Model UN and debate.” The entire time the two had been having a conversation, John had been looking out the window above the stairwell. It began to rain slowly, and the sound of the gentle pitter-patter echoed lightly.

Something which seemed out of character flashed in George’s eyes. As opposed to his welcoming demeanor, it was a look of furiosity. Alexander wondered if he had said anything to invoke this. However, the look went away quickly. “I see,” replied Frederick. He turned around, only to look back a second later. “I suppose I’ll see you around.” He started to walk down the stairs, regaining his poise. Alexander sat back down.

Alexander waited until he was out of earshot to comment on what had just happened. “That was… odd,” he commented in a hushed voice, for he had no other words to describe the encounter. “George Frederick seems a bit fishy.”

As John opened his mouth to respond, John Laurens happened to walk by the two. Like George Frederick, he stopped to greet them.

“Hi John, Alex, I was just looking for you,” he said with one of his breath-taking grins.

“Hi, Laurens,” the two said in unison. Alex was beginning to grow irritated at the number of the interruptions, even though the interruption was someone he liked greatly.

Unlike Frederick, Laurens turned to John as he started speaking. “Anyway, I was wondering how your, uh, thing on Saturday went.”

At the mention of the “thing on Saturday”, John grew red and slightly flustered. “The thing on Saturday was… good. It went well.” John cut his sentence off quickly. “Also, Sam’s in town this weekend.”

Laurens was a bit taken aback by John’s unusual lack of words, but he continued as normal. “That’s… good to hear? Also, I hope he’s doing well.” Laurens sad, although he looked slightly unsatisfied at the mention of Sam. Alexander didn’t think John noticed, because he was clearly excited about Sam’s visit, whoever he was. Laurens paused and turned to Alex. “I’ll see you later, Alex, John.” He walked away.

Alex groaned. “So many interruptions. What was the thing on Saturday?” he asked with interest.

John sighed. He wondered if the amount of interruption in this scene was a subconscious feature put in by the author in order to let loose frustration caused by constant interruptions during the writing process, but then put the thought away in the back of his mind for later. “It was just, you know, a thing. On Saturday.”

Alexander nodded. “Okay. So about Burr and Laurens…”

It was John’s turn to nod. “Right, so you see,” he was interrupted by Dr. Franklin, walking up the stairs at the moment. Dr. Franklin was carrying a small dog in his arms, which the eyes of Alex and John immediately darted to.

“Dog,” they said in unison.

Mr. Franklin looked down at the two sternly, without a hint of amusement. He stopped in his tracks and pushed up his glasses. “It’s a cat,” he deadpanned. After the brief encounter, he kept walking as the boys looked on, slightly unsettled.

“Okay, so anyway,” started John. “I’m not sure if you’ve figured it out by now, but Laurens doesn’t really have many friends.” John appeared to be weary and in need of some rest, as if he hadn’t slept properly in days. Knowing John, Alexander assumed this to be true. He still wore his scarf from last week in order to cover up the bruises which Thom had given him on Wednesday; however, they were accompanied by newer ones.

Alex took a moment to think about Laurens’s lack of companions. He distinctly recalled a few times when Laurens had spoken to someone, but they chose to ignore his presence. “I didn’t really think about it, but is it like when he tries to talk to people and they ignore him? That’s happened a few times.”

John spoke in a very somber tone. He locked eyes with Alexander. “Exactly. You know why that is?”

“Aaron Burr,” Alexander sighed.

“The context is that most people at this high school are devout Christians; we’re just about tipping on the edge of the Bible belt. And then there’s Aaron Burr, whose grandfather is a pastor. So, of course people are going to listen to him because he’s his grandfather’s grandson,” explained John.

“So, what does that have to do with Laurens?” queried Alexander. He was beginning to feel slightly ill with anxiety.

“Alex, John Laurens is gay. He didn’t want anyone outside of his close friends to know, but somehow Aaron Burr found out.”

Alexander didn’t respond to this, so John continued. “And Aaron Burr, beautiful and pure pastor’s grandson he is, told _everyone._ Words spread _fast_ around here _._ ”

Alexander finished the story for himself. “And then everyone turned on him, didn’t they?” In his mind, he thought, ‘ _Do I even have any straight friends?’_

“Yeah. That was a year ago, around the same time that his dad disowned him.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Although Alexander was well-aware that Laurens lived alone, he wasn’t aware that he had been disowned by his father. “He said that his dad just moved to Florida. Is that even _legal?”_

“It’s legal as long as he continues to pay child support. It doesn’t really count legally as disownment until he completely cuts Laurens off. Nobody really knows, but we hypothesize that Laurens pretends as if his dad moved to Florida in order to escape the reality of his situation.” John was sometimes annoying and often insulting, but he knew legal matters quite well for someone of his age and position.

“I just-” began Alexander, cut off midway.

“He seems to be very strong, and everyone thinks he’s some sort of gentle giant, but Laurens is quite fragile underneath everything he does for anyone else. He’s difficult to understand sometimes.” John concluded.

Although Alexander was contented to have received this information early on, he was concerned for the security of Laurens more. “Would Laurens be okay with me knowing all of this? I mean, it’s a rather personal matter and he probably would have felt more comfortable telling me himself about this.”

“I don’t know,” John answered after a moment of thought, “but everyone else knows about it and Other John sure as hell isn’t going to tell you himself any time soon.”

“John, how long ago was this?” inquired Alexander.

“Maybe ten months ago?” said John, counting on his fingers to make sure. “It was January when it happened and it’s October now, so ten months.”

As John answered the question, Laurens came walking back up the stairs. He waved to both John and Alexander.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” commented Alexander.

Laurens, however, kept walking. “I hope it was nice things,” he replied, uncharacteristic in passing by without stopping at all. Alexander and John were perplexed at his lack of passing conversation; however, Laurens had reason for failing to converse with his two friends. After hearing the words, “ten months” fall from John’s mouth, he’d had a small burst of pent-up anxiety remaining from what had happened those long ten months ago. He did not want to remember the happenings of what had happened, and he merely hoped that Alexander would not hate him after hearing what he insinuated John had told him.

°°°°°

After school, Alex had made plans to accompany Thom to his home in order to do country research for the upcoming model UN conference. After the final bell rang, he gathered his belongings and walked to the upstairs hallway in order to meet up with Thom and Lafayette so they could leave the building of Frederick High School. He found the two quickly, chatting with the three Johns outside of the science wing.

“Hi, everyone,” Alexander offered a greeting at the five others. He was returned with a chorus of greetings as they all returned to their conversation.

“The _logical_ way to spend one million dollars would be to invest seventy-five percent of it in the stock market and save the remaining twenty-five percent for a rainy day.”

John Laurens rolled his eyes at this statement. “Thom, your net worth is _over_ five million fucking dollars. Investing that much in the stock market is slightly unrealistic for those of us who aren’t part of the one percent. I think if I had one million dollars, I would pay rent for the month and then maybe buy a Rolex.”

“I don’t see your point. That’s so _realistic_ ,” Thom replied, shaking his head. “but Rolex is a good choice.”

“I would like to invest in my studio and then perhaps, euh, buy a twenty-thousand dollar bottle of champagne,” added Lafayette. “Yes, that sounds appropriate.” He nodded affirmatively.

“What about you, Alex?” asked Laurens. However, Alexander had zoned off in the midst of this conversation. Alex gestured for clarification. “What would you do with one million dollars?”

“Oh,” replied Alexander, giving the question a moment of thought. “I would probably first invest in a personal library and then put the rest in the bank,” Alexander paused, wondering if there was anything else he would want to have. “And I would probably go to a Starbucks at some point. I’ve never been to Starbucks, but I hear it’s an enjoyable experience.”

“Seriously?” asked John Adams. Alexander nodded.

“Well, _anyway_ ,” started Thom, breaking up the conversation. He put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “We should probably get going now.”

“Right,” commented Lafayette.

At that moment, another student passed by. He was tall and lanky, movements weighed down by everything he was carrying. As he passed the group consisting of Alexander, Thom, Lafayette, and the three Johns, he coughed loudly. Whatever he said wasn’t clearly heard. But one word was evident to everyone present. _“Fag,”_ he coughed loudly. John Laurens’s face went pale.

However, Thom was not willing to let this comment slide without retribution. He cleared his throat very loudly, enough to make the other student, now halfway across the hall, to turn around. Thom’s voice was sonorous and versatile; it was loud and booming when he needed it to be, and it could be relaxing enough to lull one into a sleep when he needed it to be. If he hadn’t dedicated his musical ability to violin, cello, and clavichord, Thomas Jefferson could have been an excellent singer.

Once Thom knew he had the attention of his subject, he made a move in order to outrage him. In an instant, Thom located his nearest comrade- Alexander in this case- and grabbed him by the collar. Before Alexander knew what was happening, Thom’s entire scheme was over and his face was burning and red. It hadn’t felt like much, and then it was over. In that instant, Thom had kissed Alexander.

“Let’s go,” Thom directed after it was over in a brief moment. Lafayette shrugged as he began walking alongside Thom, as he had grown used to Thom’s erratic behavior in the few months he had lived with him. A still-dazed Alexander followed the two, unsure how to approach Thom about what had just happened. He simply kept walking until he sat down in the back seat of Thom’s car, for the driver and passenger seats belonged to Thom and Lafayette.

Although Thom carried on with his life without hindrance, Alexander felt extremely awkward after what had happened. He didn’t understand how Thom could kiss him and then instantly forget it without comment. Not a word was said about the affair as the three drove to Thom’s dwellings, stopping at a Starbucks on the way home. As expected, Thom paid for everyone’s orders. The experience was enjoyable, as Alexander had heard, but it only aided to alleviate his conflicted feelings a small amount. He sat alone in the back seat, adding useless bits of information to the conversation until the three reached the place where Thom lived.

In three words, Thom’s place of living was _really fucking great._ In more words, it could be described as elegant, classy, or extravagant. The place whispered wealth in every corner, as well as screaming it in some places. The gate in front of the long driveway spelled out the word “ _Monticello_ ” in swirling letters, in addition to requiring a four-number PIN code. The house itself was grand; however, it looked unlived-in and empty. The empty space everywhere made Alexander a bit unsettled in the feeling of melancholy. However, it was where Thom and Lafayette resided at the time, as well as Thom’s parents when they were not away for various matters.

“What do your parents do?” asked Alexander, looking around the place. He was impressed by the simple elegance of the place. The interior design was clearly done by a professional who knew well what they were doing.

“My mom’s a neurosurgeon and my dad’s an agricultural biotechnology engineer,” answered Thom nonchalantly, as if they were average occupations. “They’re not around that much because of work... and stuff.”

“That must be difficult,” replied Alexander. He didn’t truly understand parent-related struggles, due to lack of a stable foundation in the matter.

Thom shrugged as he led Alexander into an office-type area. “It’s taken its toll sometimes, but I’m used to it at this point. And I’m with Lafayette for the next two years, so that makes it better.”

“Two years?” wondered Alexander out loud. “I thought that the exchange program was only one year.”

“Oh, it’s one way for two years,” answered Thom. “Lafayette is doing his exchange year here and then I’m doing an exchange year next year.”

“ _Parles-tu français?”_ asked Alexander as the two took seats side-by-side at the large office table. Alexander himself was fluent in French due to his late mother, but it wasn’t often that the skill became useful in his everyday life.

“ _Oui, je crois que je sais assez de français pour vivre en France pour une année, mais je veux bien continuer jusqu’à je suis vraiment courrament en français.”_ Thom was clearly proud of his French-speaking abilities.

“So, how about Malaysia,” Alexander started, unsure how to continue the conversation about foreign exchange programs. Although he had only known Thom for less than a week, he felt a strange sort of connection to him, as if they were able to understand each other’s sentiments well.

“Right. So, I’ve thought a bit about this crisis, and I believe that we should take the stance of helping in terms of monetary relief for the victims,” answered Thom thoughtfully.

“I disagree,” responded Alexander, surprised at Thom’s _terrible_ opinion. “We’re not in a close enough proximity to the crisis in order to be able to have any relevant opinions on the matter, so although we should say something, I don’t believe that we should deplete our own monetary resources in order to help. We have enough problems internally to begin with.” Alexander was wrong about being able to understand Thom’s sentiments.

“Okay, but think of it this way,” retorted Thom. “If we use our power in order to benefit problems differing from our own, we’ll be able to build up soft power and gain a good reputation for the country. I mean, our military fucking sucks and…” Thom trailed on, turning his argument into a paragraph. Of course, Alexander disagreed with the very fundamentality of Thom’s argument. Their various disputes and arguments went on for about an hour and a half until they decided to take a short break.

Alexander enjoyed arguing and debating with others, and his arguments with Thom had completely taken his mind off of when he had kissed Thom two hours earlier; however, the break from it all did nothing but bring the memory back to him. He decided that talking about it would be the only way to rid the elephant in the room.

“So, Thom, about what happened earlier…” Alexander started, wanting to clear up any misunderstanding.

“What happened earlier?” asked Thom, biting into an apple. “Oh yeah, when that prick called John Laurens a fag?” he remembered.

“Yes, that, and you kissed me and I-” Alexander was suddenly cut off.

“Forget about it,” interjected Thom. “It’s, hm,” he paused. “not important if you don’t want it to be important. Is that why you were being so awkward on the way here?”

“Excuse me?” Alexander was slightly offended. “I’ve never kissed anyone before you today so it was-” he said before he was cut off by Thom again.

“So did you like it?” asked Thom. Thom knew how to be subtle, and he knew that he was _not_ being subtle.

“I mean, I-”

“This isn’t entirely related, but I’ve been wondering all day what it would be like to kiss you, because I _know_ that you think I’m attractive and everything,” answered Thom, without stopping to hear Alexander’s response. “And then I had the chance, so I took it.”

“ _How did you_ -” Alexander began. He was beginning to grow increasingly frustrated that Thom seemed to predict everything he was saying before he said it.

In response, Thom pulled a flip phone out of his pocket, which Alexander immediately recognized as his own.

“Where and how did you obtain possession of that?” asked Alexander. “And furthermore, what makes you assume that cell phone is mine? It doesn’t have any clearly identifying factors on it.”

In response, Thom flipped open the phone and opened to the picture gallery, in which the first picture was one of himself sleeping against a music stand. Alexander mentally chastised himself for having taken the picture, due to the embarrassment it caused him now.

Thom looked at the picture, and then back at Alexander. “That _is_ a pretty good photo of me,” he commented.

“I thought you were straight,” said Alexander.

“Yeah,” exhaled Thom, remembering the days when he still believed he was a heterosexual. “ _Me, Thomas Jefferson, a heterosexual_ ,” Thom said sarcastically. “I don’t really know or care at this point.”

“What are we, anyway? Friends? Enemies? People who just met each other five days ago? I’m not sure I want to do this with _you_ , Thom, not after what you did to John Adams.”

“I don’t really know or care about this, either,” replied Thom. “but you’re pretty cute.”

Alexander sighed, unable to take it any longer. Thom was _extremely_ good at breaking his resolve. Alexander wondered what Thom was not good at, for there was surely something. However, he immediately put the thought in the back of his mind. “Thom…” he started, expecting to be cut off again. However, he was uninterrupted. “Kiss me,” he finished.

“I can do that,” replied Thom, standing up. Alexander followed suit, face burning in embarrassment and excitement.

Thom hooked his arm around Alex’s waist, pulling him in as close as he could. He ran his hand through Alexander’s auburn hair, waiting for Alexander to calm down a bit. After waiting for a few moments, he tilted Alex’s still-red face up a bit as he leaned down. Thom felt Alexander wrap his arms around his shoulders and neck.

“Alex,” whispered Thom softly with half-lidded eyes.

“Thom…” whispered Alexander back as he felt Thom’s lips meet his.

The kiss was warm and slightly rough. Thom tasted sweet, like the red apple he had been eating a few moments earlier. Alexander didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he let Thom do everything for him. When the two pulled apart after a few moments, they didn’t change positions at all. Instead, they stood there for a few more seconds, breathing heavily; however, these few seconds felt like an eternity to the two.

Alexander could feel Thom’s soft, warm breathing as he continued to gently stroke Alexander’s hair. “Thom…” he whispered once again, making direct eye contact with the other.

“Alex…” Thom whispered back, mirroring his previous actions.

“Let’s never do that again,” said Alexander suddenly. His face was red and he could feel his heart rate rising.

“Yeah, that was terrible,” breathed Thom as their lips met for another heated kiss, far better than the last; however, their third kiss was interrupted by the click of someone unlocking the front door, which was adjacent to the office room. The two froze, not moving an inch. To the surprise of both Alexander and Thom, an exasperated-looking James Madison walked through the front door.

Thom breathed a sigh of relief at the appearance of his best friend. “Oh, _thank god_ it’s just you, Jamie,” he sighed. “I thought it was Jane or Peter for a moment and I nearly had an aneurysm.”

James Madison was a man of few words and fewer friends. When he spoke, his words were carefully calculated in order to get his point across as effectively as possible and as quickly as possible. He carefully scrutinized the positions the two were in, drawing a conclusion about what they had been doing. “That would have been bad,” he agreed, nodding. “I’ll go now.” James left the room promptly, leaving Thom and Alexander to their own devices.

James’s sudden appearance had all but destroyed the heated tension in the room, so Alexander and Thom finally broke apart. Alexander frantically tried to smooth down his naturally-wavy hair.

“Thom, I think we need to talk,” stated Alexander firmly. He left no room in his statement for Thom to interrupt him.

“Sure,” agreed Thom, sitting down in his swivel chair. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What is _this_? And what’s your deal with John Adams?” Alexander asked, waving his right hand in order to indicate _“this”_ as the amorous affair which had just occurred. “Also, why does James have a key to your house?”

“Oh,” said Thom. “Jamie comes over a lot when he needs to get away from his family, so we just decided to give him a house key; also, don’t call him Jamie or he will kill you.” Thom paused for a moment, thinking of how to answer Alex’s second question. “I don’t know what’s up with John at this point, and I prefer not to think about it too much.”

Alexander couldn’t help but agree that it was best not to think about John’s feelings too much. John was irrational, petulant, erratic, and many other things which did not add up. He was difficult to read and even more difficult to understand sometimes.

“He’s in love with you,” said Alexander, desperately trying not to think about the fact that he had just secondhand-kissed him through Thom.

“You think I don’t know that?” retorted Thom, running his hands through his soft, clean hair. Thom found it difficult to handle the emotions of others. “I wish he wasn’t. It just makes everything difficult for us, and John probably deserves someone who’s better to him,” he added.

“And how long are you going to keep seeing him?” demanded Alexander. Although he had only known him for a few days, John was a friend.

“Stop asking me about John!” exclaimed Thom. Alex swore he heard the windows rattle with this action. “This isn’t about him. He can do whatever the fuck he wants, okay? It’s _fine_.”

“Perhaps we should just stop,” suggested Alexander, although he didn’t truly want to stop. “That would make everything simple. We don’t need to have anything more than friendly rivalry, Thom. Both of us are fine the way we are, right?” Alexander sounded as if he was trying to convince himself of this, because he was. He sighed. “Neither of us want to stop right here.”

‘ _It’s not gay if it’s model UN,’_ thought Alexander. He attempted to shush his mind.

“Let’s just-” started Thom, cut off suddenly. He was frustrated by this, wondering if this was how other people felt when _he_ cut _their_ sentences off.

“-agree to never have romantic feelings for each other. Ever. Or tell anyone else. Ever,” Alexander said as he leaned over to kiss Thom once again.

Thom stopped Alexander when he was merely a few inches from his face. “Let’s do that,” he breathed as he leaned in.

°°°°°

It was roughly six in the evening when Thom drove Alexander to his own place of residence, for there was no public transit within thirty minutes of Monticello, and the sun was beginning to set. With the absence of Lafayette, Alexander sat in the passenger seat of Thom’s car.

The two were moving swiftly along the road when Alexander asked, “Why do you spell your name T-H-O-M? I’ve seen T-O-M but never the way that you spell it.”

Thom ran a hand through his hair, letting it cascade over his forehead and ears. “Because I’m a pretentious fuckhole and I like it that way,” Thom paused and grinned. “Or so people tell me.”

_‘Well, that is true,’_ thought Alexander. “Next left here.” He pointed at the road ahead of them. Alexander hated to admit it, but Thom was a good driver when he wasn’t hungover.

“So, that Aaron Burr guy talked to me today,” started Alexander.

“Jesus _Christ_ , that guy” Thom said, exhibiting a clear annoyance at the mention of Burr. “He’s, _ahem_ , smart, but not in a way that matters.”

“Meaning?” questioned Alexander.

“We’re on the same side on almost all matters, but,” Thom paused, finding the right words to phrase his ideas. “ _in_ that same side, we disagree on everything, so we face off _a lot_. We’ve been aggressively competing for highest GPA for a year now.”

“He told me to stay away from John Laurens,” added Alexander. “Wait.” He motioned for Thom to slow his car down. “This is as far as I go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Thom. “It’s dark and cold.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to walking in the cold and dark,” Alexander replied nonchalantly. “Thanks for the ride, Thom.”

“No problem, see you tomorrow!” called Thom as Alexander closed the door and began to walk to his place of residence.

‘ _Man_ ,’ thought Alexander, _‘I don’t know whether to hate him yet or not, but it’ll inevitably happen eventually.’_

°°°°°

Alexander was one to enjoy walks alone; they gave him time to reorganize all of the information in his mind and think in a space with no others. During his walks, he completely detached himself from reality, paying no mind to the weather or any outside movements. He simply walked and thought, sometimes exclaiming when he reached an epiphany. He knew well the various looks people gave him as he quietly spoke to himself, but he was beyond the point of caring what strangers thought of him.

Alexander walked until he reached the gate of the place he lived; it was visible from many yards away due to the illuminated sign which read, ‘ _Mulligan Childrens’ Home’._ The building itself was medium-sized and average-looking, the sign being the only exceptional difference from other houses along the street. Alexander pulled his house key from his pocket in order to unlock the door. He sighed as he turned the doorknob and opened the door, remembering that he had forgotten to retrieve his cell phone from Thom.

Greeted by bright light inside the home, Alexander squinted, taking off his generic black shoes at the door. His socks were old and slightly threadbarren, but it didn’t bother him.

“ _Alexander!”_ a voice came booming down the staircase. “Where have you been? We’ve called you twice in the past hour and you didn’t pick up, so we were worried.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hugh,” apologized Alexander. “I misplaced my cell phone earlier in the day, and someone I know found it, but I completely forgot to retrieve it for him. I mean, don’t worry, I know where it is, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

The Mulligan Childrens’ Home was a foster care home primarily run by Hugh Mulligan and his younger brother Hercules in order to care for wards of the state, such as Alexander. In addition, there was a woman by the name of Mary Thaxter who came on weekends for the sake of having a female patron. Alexander had arrived a bit more than a week earlier from a similar place in New York City. At the time, there were three other minors living there, ages ranging from ten to seventeen.

The Mulligan brothers both had very different personalities and appearances, making it impossible to guess that the two were brothers without prior knowledge. Hugh Mulligan was a fellow who was hardened and strict on the outside, but thoughtful and kind to those who knew him. Hercules Mulligan, on the other hand, was a bit unruly. His personality seemed rather brash to many, but he was excellent with children and teenagers. The age difference between the two brothers was one of eight years, so their tastes were rather different. Alexander enjoyed the company of Hugh for intellectual conversations and Hercules for casual companionship and other advice.

Alexander trudged up to the bedroom he shared with his roommate, Charles Willson Peale. Charles appeared to be working on his latest creation, some sort of sewing project.

Alexander set his things by the bottom of his bunk, looking over at what Charles was sewing. It appeared to be some sort of leather strap. Charles’s tailoring skills were adept enough to capitalize upon, but he was terrible at working with leather. He wished to become a saddle-maker in the future; however he was the only one who could visualize that career plan for himself.

Charles was so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed Alexander enter the room or put his things down. Alexander walked up to behind where he was working and tapped his shoulder. Charles was surprised at the sudden notification of Alex’s arrival.

“Alex, you made me prick my finger!” he exclaimed.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t sue me for assault.” jested Alexander as he exited the room. He returned a minute later with an adhesive bandage. By then, Charles had calmed down completely.

“What’s up?” asked Charles as he carefully applied the bandage over his small wound.

Alexander sighed, pulling up a chair to the wooden table. “Today’s been quite a day, Charles.” He was thankful to have a roommate with whom he got along well.

“Is that so?” retorted Charles as he resumed his leatherwork endeavor. “How’s Frederick treating you? I hear it’s a treasure trove of gossip.”

“That’s true,” replied Alexander. “It’s been four days and I’ve already heard more than my past three schools combined.”

“Such as?” queried Charles. He enjoyed gossip.

“So far I’ve only heard what John, and Thom have said, but apparently the entire school administration is biased and shit.” Alexander reached into his backpack in order to pull out his books.

Charles paused for a second. “What are their last names?”

“Adams and Jefferson, why?” replied Alex.

Charles shrugged. “I went to elementary school with a good number of the people who attend Frederick, so I know some of the people there. I’ve definitely heard of Thom though.”

“I did not realize he’s that well-known, or that you’ve been here this long. How’ve you been here since elementary school without being transferred to a different place?”

“More like _infamous_ ,” countered Charles, now pulling his own schoolwork out of his bag. He looked over at Alexander from the opposite end of the table. “Holy _shit_ , I can’t believe you’re friends with him.”

“Language!” the two heard Hugh call over from another room. Charles lowered his voice.

“Right…” trailed Charles. “Well, anyway, I’ve lived here since forever, but I had to move here when my father died two years ago. So my mom runs a low-end tobacco shop now, and then she married another guy who only makes enough to pull his own weight.”

“Listen,” said Alexander suddenly. “Do you want to come to the library with me? I have to use the internet in order to finish this.” He gestured at his stockpile of notebooks.

“Sure, let’s go,” replied Charles, already putting his things away.

After announcing their departure to Hugh Mulligan, the two set off in order to visit the library, which was about a five minute walk away. They walked side-by-side in the peaceful darkness, watching the vapor from their breath dissipate when a streetlight was nearby.

Halfway there, Alexander stopped under a streetlight for a moment, watching the dust under the lamp and the rays of light falling around him in brightness and shadows.

“Charles?” he asked.

“Hm?” Charles responded, looking up from the cracked pavement of the sidewalk. He wished for a camera, so he could capture Alexander in this moment- the wind ruffling his clothes, the red of his nose, the way the light fell on him in perfect rays and shadows.

“Do you ever think…” Alexander trailed off his sentence, something he wasn’t known to do often. “Do you ever think about how incredible it is how fast everything is and how quickly everything changes?”

Charles coughed. His nose stung from breathing in the cold winter air. “Incredible, certainly. Good, sometimes. It was _fast_ when everything changed to become this,” he gestured around, indicating that _this_ was his new life. “but I don’t know how things would be better or worse otherwise.”

Alexander looked at Charles. “I suppose you’re right. Come on, let’s go.” Alexander turned on his heels, leaving Charles to run after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have never kissed anyone if you haven't noticed yet  
> also: Charles Willson Peale my MAN hit me tf up if u wanna talk about Peale
> 
> Me: I wrote a thing  
> Society: no you fucked up perfectly good political figures is what you did. look at them. they've got unresolved sexual tension.
> 
> Discussion question: What kind of person do you think Aaron Burr is?


	4. Delegates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the model UN chapter  
> where we left off: Alex and his roommate, Charles, are headed to the library.  
> wait, do we even know anything about John and Thom's relationship?

 

The library was medium-sized and cozy, with comfortable armchairs and lamps lined against the bookshelves which gave off a soft, warm light. It was a place in which Alexander felt comfortable, although he had only been there twice. Charles opened the door to the library, allowing the winter air to mix with the warm air of the library, and stepped into the main lobby.

“Well, Alex, we’re here,” stated Charles, looking over the bulletin board for the latest library events. His eye caught a flyer for a horology lesson. “Hey, that looks interesting,” Charles commented as he scribbled the date onto his left hand.

“I didn’t know you took interest in horology,” replied Alexander.

In return, Charles grinned. “Might as well make myself useful.”

The two walked down the rows of bookshelves for a bit before reaching the computer terminals; however, at the computer terminals, Alexander and Charles both spotted a familiar face. He was aggressively typing something onto an outdated laptop, clearly frustrated at the device. The two stared at him for a bit before he finally noticed them watching him. His eyes first met Charles.

“…Charlie?” he asked, blinking a few times in order to correct his vision. “Is that you?”

“Jack Laurens?” Charles asked in return.

Alexander interrupted their reunion. “John Laurens, I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, but neither of them seemed to acknowledge his comment.

“Jack Laurens, you’ve changed a _lot_ ,” Charles observed looking Laurens up and down. “I haven’t seen you in _forever_.”

“You two know each other?” asked Alexander. He was surprised at the connection between them.

“Alex, I didn’t even notice you there,” directed Laurens at Alexander. “Fancy seeing you here. Charles and I used to be good friends in elementary school, but we haven’t seen each other since.” Laurens winked at Alexander, before he turned back to Charles. “Charlie, I didn’t expect to see you here. At all.”

“Jack, how’ve you been?” asked Charles.

Alexander turned to Laurens as well. “I didn’t know you went by Jack.”

It was Laurens’s turn to respond. “I used to go by Jack, but I’ve been going by John for the last year or so. Some choose to call me Laurens, though.” He gave a brief glance to Alexander, who blushed a bit.

“Unbelieveable,” commented Charles.

“Hm?” queried Alexander.

“This guy,” Charles pointed at John Laurens with his thumb. “Used to _hate_ his name. Nearly lost at anyone who called him John instead of Jack.”

“It’s true,” shrugged Laurens. “Plenty of people still call me that, though.”

“Jack,” repeated Alexander, entranced by the new information about Laurens. “That’s kind of cute. Can I call you that from now on?”

“As you wish,” replied Laurens, stealing a quote from _The Princess Bride_. Alexander didn’t understand the reference, but he smiled because Laurens was smiling.

Charles suddenly changed the topic of conversation. “So how are Henry and the bunch?”

Laurens grimaced at the mention of Henry and ‘the bunch’. “They’re… fine.” He clearly was uncomfortable with the subject at hand, but Alexander gave him a quizzical look. “My brothers and sisters,” he explained without wasting any breath.

“I didn’t know you had any siblings,” commented Alexander.

“Well,” interjected Charles, “what else don’t you know?” It was this comment which would stay in Alexander’s mind for weeks, wondering how much he- or anybody- truly knew about John Laurens. He didn’t enjoy talking about himself, instead listening to the troubles of others without complaint. He made a mental note to make Laurens talk about himself more at some point, if he wouldn’t do it himself.

“So, how do you two know each other?” asked Laurens, shutting his laptop.

“We live close to each other,” answered Charles, giving a half-truth. He made eye contact with Alexander through the corner of his eye, who was relieved that this was not the day that he would have to tell Laurens about his orphaned status.

Laurens nodded. “So what have you been up to these days, Charlie?” He posed the question with such casualness that Alexander wondered if he had practiced the line ahead of time, or if he was naturally good with people.

“I’m trying to build up a portfolio in the next few years so I can get into trade school,” Charles answered with certainty. “And yourself?”

“Me? I’m still trying to learn how to handle living alone. My dad moved to Florida ten months ago, so now it’s just me,” Laurens replied, giving his wording a bit of thought. He didn’t enjoy discussing his living situation or other familial matters.

“Living alone, huh…?” trailed Charles unsure how to respond. “Enjoyable?”

“Eh, it gets lonely just about every day, but other than that, I’m just happy to have my kitchen arranged the way I like it.” John Laurens answered with sincerity, but there was something about his demeanor which nagged Alexander every time he spoke, as if there was something artificial nonetheless.

“I think I’ll leave you two to your own devices,” said Alexander as he logged on to an adjacent computer terminal. The two continued to chat for about half an hour, before exchanging cell phone numbers and carrying on. It was ten in the night when Alexander and Charles finally walked home, exhausted but content.

“Alex,” Charles said later that night, from across the uncomfortable table where they were accustomed to working.

“Hm?”

“You and Jack Laurens, huh?” he asked.

“What are you saying?” returned Alexander, feeling his face flush. ‘ _Fuck,’_ he thought. _‘Why does everyone think I have a thing for John- no, Jack Laurens?’_

Charles shrugged before he went back to his work, leaving Alexander to wonder. He went to sleep that night a bit distressed, unable to fully compute all the happenings of that busy day.

°°°°°

The end of the week came quickly, and finally, it was time to depart for the first model UN conference of the year. Since the club was not supported by the finance committee anymore, students had to drive themselves; the problem was that only Angelica, Laurens and Thom had drivers’ licenses, and Rita was too unreliable to make long trips anymore.

“Okay,” started Angelica, taking over procedures for departure. She was one of the few who everyone listened to, although that was mostly because she was one of the only people Thom took seriously. “Thom and I are the only ones who can drive, so who are we taking?” she surveyed.

Washington answered. “Thom should take Lafayette and Alexander at least, since Alexander is partners with him and Lafayette is his host brother.”

“ _Please do not refer to me as Thom’s brother ever again,”_ interjected Lafayette. Thom nodded.

Angelica looked over at Thom and Lafayette, gravely serious about this request. “Right. Anyway, I’m going to drive with Washington, and my car only seats two, so that’s all I have space for. Thom, you’re taking both of the Johns. It may be a bit crowded, but you’re bad at driving in abnormal weather conditions, and John Laurens can drive, so it’s the best way to do it.” Thom sulked at the criticism of his driving.

“Hm,” replied Laurens, glad that he wasn’t the one to be driving.

“So,” started Thom. “I’m the driver, Lafayette has shotgun, who else is going to sit where?”

“I’m in the back,” John claimed. “Wait, Thom?”

“You called?”

“Since when do you have a six-seater car?”

Thom shrugged, opening the driver’s side door. “Jane and Peter own some cars.” He paused for a moment, starting the ignition. “Okay everyone, buckle your seatbelts. There’s _nothing_ more uncool than seatbelt safety.”

“Thom, don’t you drive hungover _all the time_? Who are you to talk about seatbelt safety?” retorted Alexander.

Thom was taken aback by the brashness of Alexander’ retort. “ _Excuse me_ , I’ve been sober for a week now, and seatbelts are the reason I’m not dead yet.”

Laurens, sitting behind Thom, patted him gently on the back. “I’m proud of you, bud.”

“Aw, thanks, John. Okay, so is _everyone_ fastened in?” Thom surveyed once again.

Lafayette raised his hand. “Wait a minute,” he said, “my seatbelt is stuck in the door.” Lafayette opened his door in order to pull it out, and then securely fastened it. “Does anyone have some road tunes?” he asked.

Alexander and John Adams both shook their heads, but John Laurens pulled out his cell phone, as well as an auxiliary cord. “I have a-”

“John, everyone knows you only listen to scores and anime music,” said Lafayette in a matter-of-fact way. Thom started pulling the vehicle out of the parking lot, moving swiftly. He received too much negative criticism for his driving, in Alexander’s opinion.

“Hang on,” Laurens protested. “Who told you that I only listen to anime music? That’s not even true.”

“What’s the first song that comes up when you press play?” asked Lafayette. He knew when he was right, and he knew it well.

Laurens held out his cell phone, only to reveal the artwork for the eighth _Naruto_ opening. “ _Touché_ ,” he sighed, defeated.

Lafayette started, “Since none of you have any good road tunes and Thom never lets anyone else touch his cellular device, I will choose the tunes.” He began fiddling with the auxiliary cord, putting on some sort of instrumental music.

John Adams groaned. “Come on, Lafayette. You did this on purpose because you know that you would get to choose the tunes.”

“Well, you’re not _wrong_ ,” said Lafayette as the music ended and phased into a French rap song.

“I would rather listen to other John’s weeaboo music than this.” John said. John Laurens began to make a comeback in order to reclaim his valor, but John Adams was right.

“This sure is a vulgar song,” commented Alexander.

“Alex, I didn’t know you speak French,” said Laurens and Lafayette in a chorus.

“They’re rapping about destroying a compact disc in various ways,” Alexander said. “I wonder what provoked them to hate the disc so much. Perhaps it was filled with anime music,” he teased, causing Laurens to exhale loudly.

“That’s it,” said Laurens firmly. “Hand me the AUX cord, Lafayette; we’re listening to the _Naruto_ soundtrack and it’s going to be _good_.” Lafayette grievously handed the cord to Laurens, who promptly started playing the first _Naruto_ opening. “And other John, you watched all of _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ in one day, so stop acting like I’m a criminal for anime-watching.” John Adams grumbled at this comment.

Alexander was quiet, staring out of the clean window. He was never one to speak much on road trips, preferring to watch the road go by and let his mind wander for hours. However, he decided to contribute to the conversation.

“Which countries are all of you representing?” he asked. “Thom and I are the delegation of Malaysia.”

“Hm,” Thom affirmed. His eyes were locked on the road, and he was zoned-out from the events unfolding around him.

“Germany,” replied Lafayette nonchalantly. He ran a hand through his hair, still a bit upset about the _Naruto_ soundtrack.

“Argentina!” the Johns said in unison, high-fiving.

John Laurens thought for a moment, before adding, “I think the room assignments will be me, Lafayette, and Washington in a room, and then Thom, John, and Alex. Oh, and then Angelica by herself.”

“ _Oh Jesus Christ_ ,” Thom whispered under his breath. Nobody else heard this.

Alexander then changed the topic of conversation to Angelica. “So, Angelica,” he started. “what’s her deal?”

“What do you mean?” asked John Adams.

Alexander explained, “She seems like an interesting character. What is she like? Who is she?”

Laurens chuckled, because Alexander had just inadvertently quoted a meme. “I think Thom knows her the best out of all of us. Thom?”

“Hm?” Thom was alerted at the mention of her name.

“Angelica?” Laurens clarified.

“What are you guys talking about? Angelica? I _know_ I kissed her a few times, like a year ago, but we decided it was gross and that we should just be friends. Also I’m pretty sure that she’s a lesbian.” Thom paused, waiting for anyone to reply, but no reply came.

“Thom, that’s… not what we were talking about. At all. I mean-” Laurens sighed, but he didn’t know what he expected from Thom. “What’s Angelica like?”

“ _Oh_. Disregard everything I just said, in that case. Angelica’s cool. I consider her to be one of the most intellectual people I know; she’s very well-versed in literature and politics.” Thom thought for a moment. “Overall, great person. We’ve been friends for a few years now, and we share similar viewpoints on a lot of matters. I love Angie. She’s the best.”

_‘Wow, Thom actually said something positive about someone,’_ Alexander thought. _‘Angelica must be the real deal.’_

“Who’s heard any gossip lately?” asked Lafayette, always one to keep up with the latest stories. Lafayette was an enigma to many, but his goals in life were simple to understand; he wanted to be good at what he did. He turned to John. “You always know everything.”

Laurens sighed, turning to John as well. “Nobody ever tells me anything, so I never know anything that’s going on.”

“Wait,” started Alexander, turning in as well. “I want in on this.”

“Alexander, my friend, I didn’t expect you to be the kind to take interest in gossip,” commented Lafayette. Alexander seemed to be the most upright out of all of them.

Turning to Lafayette, Alexander gave his explanation. “It’s a common theory among historians that language was first invented by humans solely for the purpose of gossiping about each other, so in a way, I feel as if I’m carrying through the meaning of language.”

“Well,” started John. “I hear that Martha Dandridge is trying to get with George Washington.”

_“No_ ,” breathed Laurens, shocked.

Alexander didn’t quite know what was going on. “Can someone fill me in on what’s happening? I know George, of course, but who’s Martha?”

Laurens explained, “Well, Martha Dandridge’s old boyfriend was very wealthy and so he gave her a lot of expensive stuff before he moved away to Kansas. And then she pawned it all, so that sparked a controversy.” Laurens’s explanation was short and unspecific, but it got to the point.

“She is a quiet one,” added Lafayette. “Very pretty, as well.”

“She’s in our orchestra class,” Thom called back, suddenly in on the conversation. Alexander was certain that he knew the most gossip out of anyone, because he was fairly popular, but Thom didn’t enjoy discussing gossip. He merely enjoyed listening to it.

“But like,” John continued. “Washington doesn’t seem like he’d be the type to care about romance at all. He’s engrossed in his GPA and lacrosse.”

“I didn’t know he played lacrosse,” commented Alexander.

“He’s _good_ at it, too,” replied Laurens. “Once, he gave me a detailed recount of all the bones he’s broken through lacrosse, and none of them are his. His teeth are all screwed up because of it, though.”

Lafayette sighed. “Are braces difficult?” he asked.

“Don’t know, never had them,” replied Alexander. He turned to John. “Braces? Difficult?”

“I can’t _wait_ until I get these metal brackets out of my mouth in June,” John said. “They’re painful and expensive, so Washington’s parents refuse to pay for them until he stops playing lacrosse.” Laurens nodded, agreeing to his sentiment. “But anyway,” John continued, “I just don’t see them working out as a couple.”

“Perhaps love will find a way,” suggested Lafayette, in a rare expression of romance.

“Anyway, and then there’s Dolley Payne,” John started again, with a different subject.

“What about Dolley Payne?” asked Alexander. “Isn’t she the president of key club _and_ social committee?” He had _met_ Dolley Payne, and she wasn’t one who could be easily forgotten. She was very charismatic for her age, and she had few enemies about her.

“ _Hey_ ,” called Thom again, annoyed this time. “ _Under my roof, nobody talks shit about Dolley Payne.”_

“Okay, okay.” John backed off. Alexander noticed that although Thom was certainly a hypocrite who had a tendency to disregard the feelings of others, he was also a very loyal friend to a select few. He wondered what James, Angelica, and Dolley had done to be included in such a group.

“Other than that, I know about Benjamin fucking Franklin and what he’s been up to,” John added as an afterthought.

“Oh yes, do tell,” teased Laurens, half-interested.

“Mr. Franklin?” asked Alexander. He hadn’t been aware that Mr. Franklin was a point of interest among students of Frederick High School, other than his abilities as a teacher.

“Guy’s got like, 7 PHDs,” replied Laurens. “Hey, also, this is a _One Piece_ opening, so we’re going into deeper anime music territory.”

Thom interjected, turning off the input from Laurens’s cell phone. “That’s it, John, we’re not listening to this anymore.” He pressed a button at the front of the vehicle, turning on a classical radio station instead. “ _Ah yes, Chopin’s etudes. Op. 25: No. 5_. _A classic,_ ” He hummed in self-satisfaction.

“You know this was in _Your Lie-_ ” started Laurens, cut off by Thom.

“Fuck you,” Thom handed Laurens the auxiliary cord back in frustration. “Can’t escape from this anime shit. No fucking escape. God _damn_.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” continued John.

°°°°°

It was about two hours until the five in Thom’s party reached the small inn they were staying at for the night. Thom parked his vehicle next to that of Angelica, hopping out to greet his upperclassmen.

“Angelica, Washington,” he said, drawing their attention. However, Angelica waited until John Laurens came out of the vehicle to give any direction.

“Everyone, the university hosting the conference is about thirty minutes away, so get dressed as _soon as possible_ so we can all get going. John Laurens, you’re going to drive, since the traffic is dense.” Angelica swiftly took her luggage out of her small, inconvenient car, all while making direct eye contact with John Laurens. She was small but powerful.

“Right,” added Washington. He was at a loss for words, as Angelica had taken the words from his mouth. “Do… that. What Angelica said.”

_‘Angelica seems to be the real brains of model UN; I wonder why she’s not president,’_ thought Alexander.

John asked, “Wait, what are room assignments?”

“Ehm,” Angelica and Washington had both forgotten room assignments. “Me, Washington, and Thom in a room, and then the rest of you.” Everyone was unexpectedly content with this assignment.

When they all collected their luggage and moved to their rooms, they immediately began to get dressed for success. Alexander, not owning any formal clothes, had had to borrow clothes from John, who was of the same height. John had been thoughtful enough to lend him a tie of Malaysia’s colors as well.

“Thanks again, John, for lending me your clothes,” Alexander said as he pulled off his old sweater. “I can’t express my gratitude properly.”

“No worries,” replied John, taking his own shoes off. “Just return them to me at the end of the year. Or high school, since you’re going to need them for debate and everything.”

“You’re serious?” asked Alexander. Despite the giving and typically wealthy natures of all the people around him, he still wasn’t accustomed to receiving favors. “I mean, these are nice clothes and I don’t want to impose or anything.”

“I have like, eight blazers alone, Alex. Don’t worry.”

Laurens verified this for John. “It’s true.” As Laurens pulled his own polo shirt off, Alexander was able to see all the details of Laurens’s torso, including all the muscle which he had acquired from working. He blushed, turning around so Laurens wouldn’t see him staring. Alexander didn’t truly want to turn around, but he figured that it was for the better. He didn’t want to make things complicated between Laurens and himself, or at least not yet.

‘ _Not yet?’_ thought Alexander. ‘ _Alex, what does that even mean? It’s probably better to think about this later, like all the other things I decided to think about later._ ’ Alexander remembered all the things which he had decided to think about later. He thought about the enigmas of George Frederick and Aaron Burr, about Charles’s relationship with Laurens, about his kisses and relationship with Thom. He felt the room heat up at the mere memory of the moment. _‘Yeah, these are definitely thoughts for later.’_

“I’m sharing a bed with Jack,” Alexander announced, using Laurens’s new nickname. He felt a sense of vindication at the usage. “Also, where’d Lafayette go? I haven’t seen him in like, five minutes.”

“He doesn’t like changing clothes around other people,” shrugged Laurens.

“Wait, did you just call other John ‘Jack’?” asked John simultaneously.

Laurens shrugged again. “I used to go by Jack, and Alex enjoys calling me that. He thinks it’s cute.”

_“It is cute, but only from him,”_ thought Laurens.

_“Damn, how did he know that I think he’s cute?”_ wondered Alexander in a brief moment of panic. _“Damn, I’m being so gay today_ ,” Alexander thought immediately afterwards. However, he didn’t see it as too much of a problem anymore, as he was beginning to come to terms his own gayness factor.

“And… done.” Laurens stood up, finished buckling his belt. His suit was secondhand, but it had clearly been rather sharp in its heyday. He looked rather sharp and mature.

John had finished dressing himself minutes ago, and Alexander was in the process of figuring out the buttons for his double-breasted jacket. His fingers fumbled to button and unbutton the two sides, making a pathetic attempt to find the right holes. He looked up at Laurens’s sudden, swift movement.

“Jack,” he gasped at Laurens’s transformation. Alexander didn’t fully understand the details of business casual, but he somehow knew that _John Laurens was doing it right_. “You look… great,” he breathed.

“Thanks, Alex.” Laurens grinned. “You need some help with that jacket?”

“Please.” Alexander said as Lafayette emerged from the small bathroom of their shared room. He, too, looked rather sharp in his attire. John was the only one who did not look especially special in his business casual wear, because he appeared to be extremely used to the dress code of events such as this one. The novelty of formal dress had not yet worn off for Alexander, Laurens, or Lafayette.

Within a minute, Laurens’s nimble fingers had properly buttoned up Alexander’s jacket and the four were ready to go. Alexander enjoyed the unusual feel of the fabric on his arms, as well as the way the ensemble perfectly meshed into a single, fluid look. He wished that he had the opportunity or means to wear suits more often.

The four met Angelica, Washington, and Thom in the parking lot, dressed and ready to go. Thom looked directly at Alexander, who was a bit nervous for his first time in model UN. “Let’s fucking _go,_ ” he said as he handed the car keys over; Laurens was assigned to drive to the university, and Thom sulked heavily as he sat in the back seat, because shotgun was _always_ reserved for Lafayette.

“Pre-rounds are always my favorite part of Model UN,” commented Laurens, enjoying the drive. He rolled his window open, letting the luff of the window into the sound barrier.

“What goes on pre-round?” asked Alexander.

“You find other people from your round and become their friends, so they will ally with you,” answered Lafayette, rolling his window down as well in order to balance out the luff.

“It’s fun, sometimes. Sometimes, though, people end up being dicks,” added John, calling from his beloved back seat. However, his words were mostly drowned out by all the noise in the vehicle. “Like saying ‘ _hey, you can just call me mister president_ ’, those people are the worst.”

“Right…” Alexander didn’t know how to continue the conversation, so there was a lull for a few minutes before Thom’s GPS said to take the next left. With the next left, the university came into view.

“Only a few minutes, now,” Thom hummed in anticipation. He thought for a moment before he spoke again. “Wait, Lafayette, are you sure you’re totally prepared for this?

“It will not get any better,” Lafayette sighed.

“Same,” Laurens sighed, accompanied by a chorus of more ‘me too’s.

“Well, here goes nothing.” Thom hopped out of the vehicle, brushing his already-immaculate clothes off. Alexander wasn’t completely sure how he felt about Thom, but  _ damn he looked really good in a suit _ .

Laurens locked the door of the car as the last person exited, handing the keys to Thom. They all began to walk in a group towards the entrance of the _Mason Building_ , where students and teachers alike were scurrying about. “I’m not ready for the influx of homework on Sunday.”

“I thought it was taboo to talk about school outside of school?” Alexander inquired

“We’re at model UN, though, so it doesn’t count,” responded John with certainty. The others nodded. “Wait, I forgot that Sam’s visiting this weekend. I wonder if I’ll get to see him.”

“Who’s Sam again?” Lafayette asked. Alexander was thankful that Lafayette asked this question, so he didn’t keep on having to ask questions.

“Other John’s cousin,” answered Laurens nonchalantly, opening the door to the Mason building. “He graduated last year. Do either of you know John Hancock?”

“Too many Johns,” answered Lafayette. “You, John, and now John Hancock.”

“I know _of_ a John Hancock,” replied Alex, “but I don’t know if we’re thinking of the same person. Mary Thaxton’s son?”

“Precisely, that’s the guy,” answered Laurens. “By the way, how do you know Mrs. Thaxton?”

In order to avoid answering the question, Alexander pointed at a crowded table. “Oh, hey, look, there’s the registration.”

“John Hancock is Sam Adams’s best friend, and they’re rather infamous in our small community,” finished Thom, walking over in order to sign in. Alexander spotted Angelica and Washington chatting with some other students by their Frederick High School’s assigned table. “Hey, Angie, Washington.” Thom slipped his binder onto the table.

Angelica looked above the brim of her reading glasses, only to see Thom. “I thought I told you not to call me that,”

Thom grinned. “But it’s cute.” Alexander and John both blushed, because Thom’s grins were cute.

Washington interrupted the two, the loud sound of his voice spreading over the group. This was an impressive feat, due to the clamor of the large room. “Has everyone signed in?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Good.”

“Hey, shouldn’t we have a faculty chaperone?” Laurens asked, looking around.

Washington and Angelica looked at him, simultaneously saying the same words. “Yes, but we don’t.” Alexander refused to believe that this motion was not one which had been practiced prior to the moment.

“Nobody gives a fuck about our model UN team…” sighed Angelica.

Angelica addressed the other six around her. “We’re here for one reason, and that is to _crush_ every other delegation. Unless, of course, we’re allies, in which case we can crush everyone together. We have thirty minutes until the beginning assembly, so let’s go.”

The first people who Alex and Thom met from their own council, council eight, were two fellows representing the United States. They were poised and had a dignified atmosphere; they were two people who knew what they were doing. Alexander and Thom approached them, trying to appear equally poised.

One of them outstretched a hand to Alexander. He was fairly tall and had a pointed face. Although he had seemed intimidating on first glance, he now had a rather friendly air.

“Patrick Henry, representing the United States,” he said. His lapel had a flag pin on it, a rather nice touch.

“Alexander Hamilton, representing Malaysia,” he replied, firmly grasping Patrick’s hand and shaking it.

He then shook hands with Patrick’s partner, a boy who went by the name Paul Revere. He was kind enough, but he was slightly colder.

“So what school are you from?” asked Thom, leading the conversation.

“We hail from Liberty High School,” Patrick answered. “Where do you two come from?”

“Frederick High School,” replied Alexander, unwilling to let Thom take over the conversation. Perhaps his conversation skills were better, but Alexander didn’t let it affect him.

“Hey,” Paul interjected. “Do you guys know John Hancock or Sam Adams?” he asked. “They graduated last year, right?”

“Yes, actually.” Thom answered, cutting off Alexander. Inside, he thought, _‘I’m actually fucking Sam Adams’s cousin_. _Small world. Man, Sam’s going to kill me._ ’ “How do you know them?”

“They consistently won the award for best delegation,” said Paul. “We actually have a chance this year without them.”

“Well, anyway, nice meeting you,” Alexander said abruptly. “We’ll meet again in about an hour,”

“Yeah, nice meeting you?” responded Patrick as Alexander and Thom began to walk away from them.

Thom confronted Alexander after the encounter was over, clearly irritated over the way Alexander had cut off the conversation. “Alexander, you’re terrible at speaking to people.”

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know that I like to get to the point.” Alexander was slightly offended, even though he knew that it was true in his heart of hearts; however, he would rather have died than admit it. “

“You heard what I said. You completely lack subtlety.”

Alex was superficially mellow, but he had always been one to lose his temper very quickly. “Thom, I fucking hate you. I honestly just fucking hate you. How’s that for subtlety?” _There_. He had said it, although he wasn’t completely sure if he’d meant it. The area around him went quiet for a few seconds, before resuming conversations.

“Really?” Thom asked rhetorically. He grinned, much to Alex’s frustration. Rather than a grin akin to the one he had given Angelica earlier, this was a devilish grin. “That’s certainly not what you said when I-”

“Oh, shut up,” Alexander shushed Thom quickly, but he was still able to get his point across. Alexander blushed heavily, recognizing his temporary defeat. “There’s another delegation from our council; they appear to be Russia. Let’s _go._ And you’re not doing all the talking.” Alexander pulled Thom by his hand, causing Thom to stumble a bit before he was able to follow behind his partner. The pair spoke to about five more delegations before they retired to their team’s table, where both Johns sat, organizing their notes and position papers.

Thom opened his binder, and moved his chair over in order to sit closer to Alexander. Perhaps he was even a bit _too_ close, for he was able to lean on Alex quite easily. Alexander hated himself for enjoying Thom’s attention, and he hated himself even more for accepting a quick kiss when they thought nobody was looking.

‘ _This is a ridiculously unhealthy relationship_ ,’ thought Alexander; however, he didn’t care for the time being. At the moment, his mind was focused only on representing Malaysia.

°°°°°

After a half-hour speech regarding westernization of east-Asia, the Frederick model UN team finally parted ways and headed to their separate councils. Both Johns wished Alex and Thom good luck before they headed to their assigned room, leaving the latter two alone to their own devices. Alexander watched Laurens’s heels tap against the linoleum floor, quickly disappearing into the large tangle of students. Lafayette stayed a moment longer, because his room was only a two-minute walk away, but he also left quickly. Angelica and Washington were long gone, having left after giving everyone direct orders to not do anything detrimental to the school’s reputation, and wishing everyone the best of luck.

Alex was a bit nervous, as it was his first time at a conference. However, he had never been one to fear public speaking or expressing an idea, because he had encountered far more difficulties in his sixteen years. His words tended to be very candor, however, which had caused conflicts in the past. Thom was right; he lacked subtlety.

When the duo of delegates reached the room, all of the chairs were nearly full, excluding Angola and Jordan. The name placards stood untouched, as if they were waiting to be grabbed and raised.

After a couple of minutes of nervous banter and re-organizing notes, a young man entered the room, shutting the door behind him. He was tall and sturdy, with a crooked nose and features which somehow made him seem wiser than one of his age. At his entrance, the room immediately went silent and backs went straight.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Richard Henry Lee and I’ll be your speaker for this conference,” he said. His tone was stern, but contained a tone of understanding. “To start off, let’s all say our name and age, years of model UN, and plans after graduation. I’ll go first; I’m twenty-two, and this is my third year at university, as well as my fifth year of model UN. I’m studying international relations.” Richard Henry Lee gestured to the first delegation next to him, the delegation of the United States.

Paul Revere was the first to speak. “I’m Paul Revere, age eighteen. This is my fourth year of model UN, and after high school I plan to enlist in the military.” He nodded, passing the attention to Patrick Henry.

“Hi everyone, I’m Patrick Henry, and I’m also eighteen.” Patrick paused for a moment considering the other details. “This is my fourth year of model UN, and after I graduate in June, I plan to study American history. We’re from Liberty High School, by the way.”

Alexander looked around the room.  _ ‘There are an awful lot of white guys here _ ,’ he thought. ‘ _ Myself included, of course.’ _ He didn’t pay full attention until it was his turn, but he paid attention to the astounding lack of diversity in the room.

After about ten introductions, the only girl in the room spoke. Her placard read,  _ ‘United Kingdom’ _ . “My name is Abigail Smith,” she said. “I’m sixteen, and I attend Northride Girls’ School. This is my first year of model UN. After graduating, I plan to major in literature and physics.” She was met with a quizzical look from some, due to the unusual combination of majors. “It’s good to have a plan B,” she replied.

After Abigail’s introduction, it was finally time for Thom to speak about himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Thomas Jefferson, but I go by Thom. I’m sixteen. I go to Frederick high school, and this is my second year of model UN. I’m not completely sure yet what I’d like to do after high school, but something government-related sounds good.” He yielded his time to Alexander.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, age sixteen. This is my first conference for model UN. After graduation, I’d ideally like to attend a university, but for that I would need a large scholarship, so I’m undecided. In addition, I’m sixteen.” Alexander was the last to speak, and it was time to begin.

“I assume that everyone here knows the procedures already?” surveyed Lee. In return, everyone nodded. “Great, let’s start. Role call.”

Everyone raised their placards except for Angola and Jordan, who were still not present. “Present and voting,” Thom said as it was their turn to speak.

Abigail raised her placard, and waited until she was called on. “Motion to open the debate on the topic of the ongoing water crisis,” she said. The motion was passed.

°°°°°

Alexander and Thom walked out of the conference room later that night, accompanied by the rest of the council. After three hours of politics, it was time to retire for the night.

“Thom,” started Alexander, irritated.

Thom rubbed his eyes, continuing to walk along the expanse of hallway. “Oh, shut up.”

“I can’t  _ believe _ this.” Alexander gestured about him, unsure how to describe ‘ _ this _ ’. “You’re the most disagreeable person I’ve met in my entire life, and I’ve met a  _ lot _ of people.

“I don’t see your point,” replied Thom, opening the door to the stairwell.

“It’s as if you made a point to argue with as many people as possible.” Alexander pushed open the door to the stairwell, making a point to not hold it open for Thom.

Thom slipped past the closing door, stopping Alexander in his steps. To his relief, there was nobody else in the stairwell at the moment. “That was  _ you _ , and you  _ had _ to disagree with everything I said.”

“That’s because all of your opinions are shit,” retorted Alexander. “I’m pretty sure that our own allies don’t even want anything to do with our delegation anymore.”

Thom didn’t miss a beat before he shut Alexander’s argument down. “My opinion doesn’t matter because we’re representing  _ Malaysia’s _ views, and we wrote all of our position papers together.”

“And that’s why they’re full of contradictions,” Alexander finished, descending the stairs.

Thom rushed down the stairs after Alexander. “They are not! Hey, can you try to be argumentative a little less?” He met Alexander at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him.

“Hey,” replied Alexander, a sudden calmness overtaking his previous tone.

“What?”

“Can you fuck off a little more?” Alex noticed a change in Thom’s composure, a sudden calmness to match his own.

Thom looked straight into Alexander’s eyes, catching Alex off guard. “Let’s just try to get through this without killing each other.”

“Agreed.”

°°°°°

Although it was only fifteen minutes long, the drive back to the inn felt like an eternity to all parties involved. Sensing the tension between Alexander and Thom, nobody dared to say a word. It was Lafayette who finally broke the silence.

“How did the rounds go?” he asked, attempting to ease some of the tension in the room.

“It went-” John started, only to be interrupted.

“Bad,” Thom and Alexander said simultaneously, doing nothing to fix the tension in the vehicle. Laurens hummed discontentedly. The rest of the drive was silent, save for the occasional noise of a passing car.

When the five finally reached the run-down inn in which they were to spend the night, they went up to their rooms without waiting for Angelica and Washington, too tired to care after four hours of discussing politics.

“Okay, so who’s going to shower first?” asked Laurens, fumbling with the key to room 111.

“Me,” replied Lafayette, taking the key from Laurens and swiftly opening the door. The room was, surprisingly, rather nice, although it was a bit cold. The window had a nice view of the parking lot and the facing road, the occasional honk of a passing car interrupting the silence outside.

“Yo, so, like, seriously, how did your round go, Alex?” asked John, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a chair. Laurens nodded, eager to hear how the round truly went.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“Lay it on me.”

Alexander started, “Thomas Jefferson is the  _ worst _ model UN partner  _ ever _ . He’s extremely argumentative and doesn’t seem to enjoy listening to other people, namely me. I could likely go on for another ten minutes in regards to specific details, but that’s most of it.”

There was a brief pause in the room, as Laurens hung up his jacket as well and pulled off his tie. “Alex, that doesn’t sound like Thom at all.”

“I didn’t expect him to be such a-”

“Are you sure you’re not projecting?” asked Laurens. This question made Alexander stop and reevaluate himself for a long moment, as John was failing to hold back laughter.

_ ‘Oh my god,’ _ thought Alexander as Lafayette emerged from the shower, wearing a worn-looking pair of pajamas.  _ ‘Perhaps  _ I’m _ the one who’s been a dick this entire time.’ _

“That was a fast shower,” commented John as Alexander was still rediscovering himself.

“I dislike wasting water,” shrugged Lafayette as he put his things away into his duffel bag. “Is Alexander okay?” he asked. “He looks a bit, how do you say, out of it.”

Alexander looked at Lafayette, suddenly coming to his senses. “I’m… fine.”

Laurens clapped his hands together. “I’ll go shower next, then.” He took his entire bag and went into the still-immaculate bathroom.

At Laurens’s absence, Lafayette sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair holding John’s jacket and sighed. “My committee was not that great,” he sighed, pulling his legs onto the chair. “Norway kept on making irrelevant comments and Nigeria was no better. England was a pretty genial guy, though.” Alexander noticed that Lafayette’s French accent became stronger when he was tired.

“Argentina doesn’t do anything,” added John. “I wish I’d gotten Jordan, an actually relevant country.” Secretly complaining about other delegations and committees was admittedly the best part of model UN.

“I’m the douchebag in my committee, aren’t I?” asked a remorseful Alexander, vowing to change everything tomorrow. Or perhaps, it  _ was _ Thom who was being the douchebag. Either way, it would take another day to find out who was in the wrong.

Suddenly, Lafayette changed the subject. “So, Alexander,” he started.

“Yes?”

“When are you going to make a move on John Laurens?”

Alexander felt his face go red, and he buried himself inside the binder he hadn’t set down yet. “Wh-what? You’re the  _ third _ person who’s asked me some variation of this question in the two weeks I’ve been there. Let me guess: next you’re going to say something along the lines of, ‘ _ you look at him in a way that is in no way platonic.’ _ ” The look on Lafayette’s face after Alexander’s short outburst was one of shame, giving him away.

“Great,” said Alexander, pausing before he followed himself up in a much quieter voice. “ _ Is it that obvious? _ ”

John exhaled loudly, sitting on the bed which he was to share with Lafayette. “Oh my god, you were right, Lafayette.” He pulled his wallet out of his backpack, and handed Lafayette a crisp ten-dollar bill. He hung his head in defeat.

“Wait,” said Alexander. “You two had a bet about this?”

Lafayette shrugged as he answered, “Thom was in on it as well.”

‘ _ Motherfucker _ ,’ thought Alexander bitterly. “It’s so complicated,” he sighed.

“What’s so complicated?” asked John. “It’s not that complicated; you just have to get other John to like you back.”

Lafayette stopped John. “John, you’ve never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend. And Alexander, you have to make a move on John, because he’s too passive to do it himself.”

“I suppose so,” sighed Alexander again, tabling the topic until a later date. “Let’s talk about this later when Jack isn’t showering six feet away. So, John, how’s your relationship with Thom?”

John blushed heavily. “We’re not even dating.”

“Come on, John,” Lafayette pressed. “Details are important.” He nodded, reaffirming his own ideals. Alexander noticed that it was rather easy to fluster John when he wasn’t in the mood to discuss his personal matters.

“It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated?” asked Laurens, walking out of the bathroom. His hair was damp, and under this condition, it was much longer than Alexander had perceived it to be otherwise. “Ugh, I’m going to have to dye my hair again.”

“Everything,” John sighed, resigned with his feelings.

“Other John, are you struggling with your feelings again?” asked Laurens, taking a seat next to Alexander on their shared bed. “We’re all friends here; you can talk about it.”

“Eh, I think I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure? You should tell Alex the story of the three times and then the other time.”

“I’ll do it once I’m done changing clothes. Also, Alex, are you going to take a shower right now?”

Alexander shrugged. “The ventilation here isn’t great, so it’ll be full of steam and hot air, which makes me nauseous. I’ll shower in the morning.”

“Same.” John quickly changed clothes, and then left Alexander to do the same. When they were all settled down, John quietly began to tell his story.

“Well,” John started, “This is the story of the time I, um,” he coughed, the tips of his ears turning red. “This is the story of the time I fell in love with Thomas Jefferson and subsequent happenings.”

Laurens whispered loudly, “ _ I love this story _ .” Alexander wondered why he took such interest in John’s personal affairs; perhaps it was because he himself had not had any similar experiences.

“I haven’t heard this story either,” commented Lafayette from behind John. “I hope it will be as good as John says it is.”

John gulped, nervous and slightly embarrassed. “I hope so too.

“The first time I met Thom was at a debate meet in middle school. It sounds rather lame. The topic of discussion was something like, ‘ _ Arts and science classes should both be considered equally important in schools’ _ . He argued affirmative, and I argued negative, but from the moment he opened his mouth,” John paused again. “I was kind of in love with him. I didn’t agree with him at all about anything, but it didn’t matter. This was two years ago, by the way.”

Lafayette hummed softly as a car rushed by the window, lights flashing into the dimly-lit room.

“We continued to see each other at those Saturday debate meets for the rest of the year. I know we were both only fourteen, but fourteen-year-old me felt like he had fallen in love with someone who didn’t even know he existed. It was… hard. Of course, we were evenly matched in terms of debate skill, so he had to have noticed me  _ somewhat _ , but I didn’t think he cared.”

“So what are these ‘three times’ and the ‘one time’?” asked Alexander.

John sighed. “The official title of this story is  _ The Three Times I Loved Thomas Jefferson and the One Time He Loved Me Back but I Rejected Him _ .”

Alexander nodded, leaning back against Laurens. “Go on,” he said. ‘ _ This sounds like something straight out of a fanfiction,’ _ he thought simultaneously. ‘ _ God, why would I know that?’ _

“I was kind of sad the last time I thought I would see him, because high school debate tournaments are orchestrated very differently from middle school debate tournaments, so I was surprised on the first day of high school when I found out we were attending the same one- Frederick High School. That first day of high school was the most nerve-wracking day of my life, because it was the one on which I told Thomas Jefferson that I was in love with him.”

“You did  _ not _ ,” interrupted Lafayette.

“It happened and it happened,” affirmed Laurens, who was gently playing with Alexander’s hair in a delightful manner. Lafayette and Alexander made eye contact for a brief few seconds; Alexander merely hoped that nobody saw his cheeks flush in the dark light.

John continued his woeful tale. “He said no,” said John, not surprising anyone. “He said, ‘ _ John Adams, right? I mean, I’m flattered, but I don’t swing that way. We can be friends, though?’ _ . And so we met other John later that day, and we’ve all been friends ever since, but it was a bit complicated.”

John let Laurens temporarily take over the story. “Essentially, I’ve been the third wheel since day one,” he added.

“So what’s the second part of the story?” asked Alexander. Despite himself, he was actually interested in this narrative. He was tired, but he wanted to hear the rest of it first; not only did he want to know the truth about John’s feelings for Thom, but he also wanted something which he could use against his self-proclaimed rival.

“The second part of the story is a few months after the first part, but it’s the day when we skipped school… and kissed… and stuff. On a park bench.”

“Wait,” said Laurens, lightly surprised. “You never told me about the part when you kissed… and stuff. That’s an important detail.”

“It’s the park bench with the middle part of the back removed, in case you were wondering.”

Laurens began to breathe heavily, for he had prominent memories of the park bench in question. “… I know the one.”

John buried his face in his knees, red at the memory. “Anyway, we went to the park, and there was nobody else there. It was March, but it was a warm day for March. He kissed me that day. And then he immediately told me that he didn’t like me. That’s not exactly what he said. I think it was actually something like,  _ ‘don’t kiss a fool’ _ ”

“ _ Mon dieu _ ,” breathed Lafayette.

“And the third story is from May, roughly six months ago now. It was essentially a repeat of the previous story, but it happened while we were stargazing instead. And once again, Thom told me that  _ he didn’t like me. _ There’s no winning in this game.

“The one time when I turned Thom down was after Rebecca Burwell broke up with him in June, after they’d been together for a couple of months,” John continued, slightly saddened by his own story. However, it was evident that the entire scene with Rebecca Burwell was a fond memory for him. “He said it was because he was in love with me. I turned him down, because it scared me and I thought it was kind of fucked up, to be honest, and then we hated each other with a passion for a while, which was just  _ awkward _ for all parties involved. There were some horrible things that I said, and even more horrible things which he said. It was bad.

“Now, in October, everything started again. You can probably infer what’s been going on. The end.”

Laurens pulled his hands away from Alexander for a moment, in order to wipe a tear from his face.

“Wait,” said John. “Other John, are you  _ crying _ ?”

Laurens nodded. “I’m easily moved.”

Alexander was soporific due to the somber quietness of John’s voice and the soothing quality of Laurens’s presence, but he managed to stay awake. “John, that’s… that explains a lot. If it consoles you at all, Thom says he has feelings for you too, but different ones. You wlaways talk about  _ love _ or whatever, but I don’t think you know what it means.”

“Hm,” replied John. “Wait, how do you even-”

Lafayette interrupted John’s question, making Alexander thank his stars. “John, are you still heartbroken over this?”

John shook his head. It wasn’t often that he spoke of his own experiences without isolating himself from the narrative; however, when he did, he was always truthful to himself. “I don’t know where anything is going. I know everything is only destructive to him and myself, but I can’t say no to him. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t stop... loving… Thom. It’s just the way things are going to be, I suppose.”

Laurens’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Washington says to ‘go the fuck to sleep’. Wait, no, it was Angelica. She thought it would be funny.”

“Nah,” replied John and Alexander in unison.

Lafayette asked, “Alexander, are you from?”

It was Alexander’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He shrugged sheepishly, not wanting to discuss the matter. For him, it brought up memories which he preferred not to remember. However, after hearing John’s story, he felt the need to contribute something to the conversation. “Well,” he said, trying to think of a good response. “I’m not exactly a US citizen. It’s unimportant.”

“Sure,” sighed Laurens, unwilling to press the matter further. “Lafayette, have you ever been in love with anyone?”

Lafayette thought for a moment before answering. “No.”

“Alexander?” Laurens asked.

“Well, actually,” Alexander thought of his relationship with Thom, and then he thought of how they had both promised to never breathe a word of it to anyone else. “No. Also, why is everyone in this friend group gay as fuck?”

John answered, “I actually don’t know, now that you mention it. Birds of a feather flock together, perhaps? I think that James is the token straight friend. Is this your coming out to us, Alex?” Alexander blushed, unsure of how to answer.

“James Madison?” asked Lafayette.

“I feel like the guy’s kind of hopeless romantic, though,” added Laurens.

Lying down with his hands beneath his head, John said, “He asked Philip’s sister out multiple times, but she said no. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I like him,” said Laurens, pulling Alexander closer to himself. “but I feel as if he hates all of us.”

“True, though,” commented Alexander, although he hardly knew James. “He always glares at me, and I don’t know why.”

“He does that to everyone,” said Lafayette, turning onto his side. “He is very quiet. I’ve heard that his health is also pretty bad.”

“Alex,” Laurens whispered in Alexander’s ear, throwing off the conversation. “You’re like, radiating heat, like a space heater. It’s kind of nice.”

°°°°°

‘ _It’s definitely Thom who was being a dick,’_ thought Alexander the next day, after the entire conference was over. The two were standing in a small group of fellow delegates, discussing the resolutions which has been passed. Although he knew that Thom was attempting to speak with diplomacy, his negative aura was evident.

Alexander was internally screaming when he felt Thom pull both of them away from the group. As usual, he was upset.

Thom sighed deeply, saying, “Let’s agree to never be model UN partners or speak to each other about this conference again.”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah, that was terrible.” It was all that was said about the subject.

At that moment, John Laurens joined the conversation. “How was your session?” he asked, exhausted.

“We argued for ten hours,” Thom answered as Alexander went to go speak to John, who was chatting with Abigail Smith.

“Hey,” Alexander called, approaching Abigail and John. “Miss United Kingdom!”

“Hi, Malaysia,” said Abigail, turning to face Alexander. Despite her firm personality during the session, she appeared to be a rather kind person. “I’m still forlorn over the decision to merge Russia, the United States, and France.”

“I wish I’d had the power to veto that one,” replied Alexander. “Russia was such a dick; he can’t just take two of our allies and roll with it. By the way, you’re an excellent speaker.”

“Thank you.”

John interrupted, “You two were in the same council? How was that? Nobody in my council knew what they were doing.”

Abigail sighed, “Russia vetoed almost all of our resolutions. By the way, we should all get going to the awards ceremony. I’ll see both of you at next year’s conference, perhaps?” She parted from Alexander and John, finding a group of her own teammates.

Alexander sighed, walking with John to the room of the awards ceremony. “I don’t think Thom and I are going to win anything.”

“Really? When I walked by your conference, it sounded as if you were doing pretty well for yourselves.”

“That’s not really the point.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel for Thom because I, too, have been described as "the worst model UN partner ever".  
> Other than that- it's never explicitly stated but they actually win fourth best delegation in their council.  
> I wrote this instead of researching for my last conference and am publishing it instead of researching for my upcoming conference. Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean, here I come!  
> My favorite thing about model UN is probably referring to people by their country assignments instead of their actual names.  
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated!!!
> 
> Discussion question: what's the stupidest/ most destructive thing any character has done to date?


	5. Cursive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month, and everyone is getting settled again. Or not.  
> Alex and Aaron are debate partners.  
> John realizes he can't define everything, and he can't stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John Singleton Copley and Charles Willson Peale are two significant colonial painters and, along with several other colonial artists, are largely responsible for how we view colonial society and important political figures today.
> 
> Here's a story about what is arguably one of the most important paintings in American history, Washington at the Battle of Princeton:  
> At the Battle of Princeton, Alexander Hamilton shot a cannonball through a painting which previously had housed a portrait of King George II. Although this was also the height of Washington's military career, only a single painting exists of him from this period: Washington at the Battle of Princeton by Charles Willson Peale. This painting was highly influential, and was sent to countries such as France, England (as a spoils of war originally intended for Cuba), and Spain.  
> It rests in a frame from which a painting of King George II was shot out during the battle of Princeton. AKA the same painting which Alexander Hamilton destroyed. It's an incredible example of real-life symbolism.
> 
> I thought that story was just too cool to not share. Anyway.

           A month had passed since Alexander Hamilton had arrived into his new life.

           A month had passed since he had given his teary-eyed farewell to the world of New York and arrived in Annapolis. He missed the city dearly, of course, and held plans to return to it in his adult life but for now, everything was fine. The world of Alexander Hamilton was secure for now. It would have to do.

           “I’m off!” Alexander called to Hugh Mulligan before stepping out of the front doors of Mulligan Children’s Home. Despite the chilly November air, the sky was clear, and he turned his face towards it. It was warmer than the typical November, but it was still cold enough to make him shiver.

           ‘ _Fuck my tropical upbringing,’_ he thought as he walked along the road, watching the sun come up. He remembered his mother, who had always told him that the sunrise was merely the sky putting on her make up. He missed the days in which he could still hear his mother’s stories, and he regretted not paying as much attention to them as he wished he had. Shivering for a moment, he tugged at his short sleeves around his wrists, swearing to one day own elaborate clothes which weren’t an inch too short. Alexander walked in his solitude for twenty minutes, watching the leaves fall from the trees before he heard a loud honk, which caused him to jump back. He then saw that it was onlu Rita. Alex walked around and opened the passenger door.

           “Good morning, sunshine,” he mumbled as he put his things into Laurens’s car and fastened his seatbelt.

           “Starshine,” replied Laurens, swiftly accelerating. There was no reply from there was merely a _look_. “What? I still think it’s a cute nickname. One day, I would like to name a cat starshine.”

           Alexander sighed, gazing through the side window. “You scared me.”

           “You wouldn’t have noticed me otherwise.”

           “That’s true,” he agreed, dropping the matter.

           “Alex,” said Laurens, taking his focus off of the road ahead of him.

           “Yes?”

           “Has anyone told you that you’re, like, really pretty when you’re alone?” Laurens blushed.

           “ _What_?” Alexander blushed as well, attempting to hide his face by turning the other way.

           “No,” He tried to mend his previous sentence. “I mean, the way you walk is, um, really, graceful, and stuff.”

           “You’re so eloquent sometimes,” Alexander snorted, turning back around.

           Laurens was almost offended by this. “ _Alexander, I am your mother, and I refuse to be_ -“

           “Shut up, Jack,” said Alexander, although he wanted to say ‘ _Shut up and kiss me already.’_ This was followed by a long pause from John, which he was guilty of creating. Awkwardly, Alex tried to fill up the silence. “So, finals are coming up pretty soon?” he tried.

           “Finals? Those are in a month, after the break,” replied Laurens, not taking his eyes off the road. “Are you already worried about exams?”

           “Well, I mean, I have to maintain a four-point-o GPA so I can get scholarships because I don’t have any money so I figure that the break is a _really_ good time to get work done,” explained Alexander. Laurens just looked at him.

           “Alex, are you okay?”

           “Yeah, I mean I haven’t gotten sick in a-”

           “I mean, just in general,” Laurens interrupted.

           “Of course! I don’t understand what would give you the impression otherwise.”

           Laurens sighed deeply, growing quiet again. It wasn’t often that he was like this; although he was certainly kind and thoughtful, his wit was quick, and he rarely left a conversation hanging as he had this one.

           “Jack, what’s wrong?” asked Alexander, growing concerned for his usually cheerful friend. “You can tell me.”

           Shaking his head, Laurens kept his undivided attention on the road ahead of him. He squinted in the sunlight as he put down the headboard. “It’s nothing that important. I’m just kind of having a bad day. Sorry for making you worry about me, because I’m sure you have more important things to worry about.”

           Alexander took a deep breath, upset by his friend's self-deprecating words. “Never say that again.”

           “What?”

           “Jack Laurens, I can’t believe you right now. You do _so much_ for me and everyone else, yet you don’t think your own feelings matter to anyone. That’s ridiculous. Given that we’ve only known each other for two months or so, but it feels as if it’s been a lot longer than that, and I’ve _never_ seen you this downtrodden, so clearly it’s a problem that need be fixed.” He paused, catching his breath. He spoke with such energy that he would surely be exhausted by the end of the day. “Your feelings matter, and I’m not sure who convinced you otherwise, but _I_ care about you, and I am and will be here in case you want to talk about it.”

           “Alex… it means a lot, said Laurens, slightly uplifted but still with an air of melancholy. “but it’s… not important.”

           Because Laurens clearly wasn’t up for talking about it, it wasn't quite further discussed. The two were in silence for the rest of the ride.

 

 

           Alexander groaned, because it was time for chemistry. Chemistry itself was interesting and engaging to him, as he planned on studying medicine in the future if he was able to. However, it was the people _in_ the class which made it difficult to focus. Namely, John Adams.

           ‘ _Literally, does John ever shut up for five seconds at a time?’_  he wondered, annoyed as he took his assigned seat. Of course, he knew that this was an extreme overstatement, as John tended to be quieter than most. It was mostly his  _writing_ which annoyed him, as he was _left-handed_.

           Alexander once asked, “John, can we switch places? It’ll be more convenient because out elbows won’t constantly clash.” The pair had to sit at tables of twos.

           “I’m sorry,” he'd answered. “I’m terribly near-sighted, and I can’t see anything from that side.” Alexander didn’t bring up the matter again, for he knew that he would only receive the same response. To John’s credit, however, he _was_ incredibly near-sighted, and often had to ask Alexander to tell him what was written on the chalkboard. Overall, this class had not been beneficial to his opinion of John Adams, and Alexander was certain that John felt more-or-less the same way. He liked the _concept_ of John, but not in practice.

           ‘ _I hate this,’_ thought Alexander as the bell rang for the start of class. _‘I know I’m probably being irrational but I Hate This with a passion.’_

           “ _Alex, I can feel your negative aura_ ,” he whispered, adjusting his _so outdated_ tortoiseshell glasses. Many things could be said of John, but he always noticed when others were off. Perhaps, Alexander once noted, this was a subconscious defense mechanism.

           Mr. Franklin then cleared his throat loudly, cueing for the start of class. “Good morning everyone, the weekend is over, and it’s a lab day, so fetch your lab books, and we’ll get started.”

           “ _The flame test_ ,” whispered John in awe; he had a strange fascination with fire, of which Alexander was wary, as his lab partner.

           ‘ _fuck_ ,’ Alexander thought, retrieving his lab book from his old backpack. It was a bright red, and had his name written on it in neat handwriting. ‘ _not the flame tests.’_

           He took a deep breath, raising his hand unwaveringly. He waited until he was called on to speak. “Sir, I’m colorblind.”

           Mr. Franklin replied to this statement without missing a beat, as usual. “In that case, you’ll provide the specimens, and Mr. Adams will do all the analysis.” John glowered in his seat.

           “ _If it makes you feel any better, John,”_ Alexander whispered, “ _I actually would have preferred to do the viewing work.”_ Internally, he knew that it would only make him more annoyed than he already was, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

 

 

            Walking into the practice room, Alex hoisted a folder full of papers close to spilling out.

            “ _James_ ,” he said, setting his papers down on the desk with a thump. “ _There’s got to be a better way to do this_.” They spilled out onto the desk, revealing pages of scales, chords, and arpeggios.

            James Madison, however, was already at his desk, which faced away from Alexander’s. He shrugged. He preferred not to say much; he was friendly with Alexander, but he didn’t consider him to be an ally _yet_. There were few people who he truly enjoyed speaking to, and he was not yet one of them.

            “I would suggest acquiring a three-ring binder.” He went back to his work, hardly acknowledging Alexander’s existence.

            “Okay,” breathed Alexander, struggling to put these sheets back in order. He had stopped playing cello two weeks ago, at the insistence of Thom.

            “Music theory will probably suit you better,” he had said, although Alexander was sure that this was merely a way to say “I _really_ don’t want to do this with you anymore.” Oh, well. He preferred this anyway, as it gave him a way to relax during the day. He picked up techniques quickly, and this was no exception.

            James tended to breathe heavily as he was working; Alex wasn’t sure if he noticed himself, but the steady rhythm made him relax. He enjoyed James’s company. He was rather quiet and overall _not_ unpleasant to be around, unlike Thom. Alexander was unsure how the two were able to be best friends, as they seemed to be totally different sorts of characters. James was also shorter than Alex, a quality which he always appreciated- not that he _cared_ about something so _superficial_ , or anything. No way.

            Alex looked down at his work and flipped through the papers in his folder. _“Fuck,_ ” he muttered, trying to locate the sheet he needed. “ _how do you do the circle of fifths, again?_ ”

            Orchestra class tended to go by slowly, but he didn’t mind. He needed all the time he could get.

 

 

 

            Alex clamped his paper folder shut and waved goodbye to James, who nodded in his leave. He was gaily made his way to the door, walking out into the open hallway when he saw an irritated Thomas Jefferson walk by. He grabbed his shoulder harshly.

            “Alexander Hamilton,” Thom said, in a grim but urgent tone. He didn’t want to let down his demeanor and make a scene. “We need to talk.”

            Alexander took Thom’s hand off of his shoulder; he didn’t like the other boy’s touch in most situations. “Okay, Jerkferson, if you insist,” he paused. “And since when, exactly, do you call me by my full name?”

            Thom groaned, leading him down the empty stairwell. “Since I decided that I don’t like you, officially. Anyway,” he stopped outside of an external door, the cold from the outside radiating on their skin. “I’ve been hearing some rumors about _us_.”

            Alexander immediately dropped his saltiness. “ _Fuck_. What have you heard?”

            Despite himself, Thom shrugged. “Some people thing we’re having a fling.”

            “A… fling?”

            “A _fling_ ,” he confirmed.

            Alex took a few seconds, long and slow, to think about it before he could respond. “Well, I mean, they’re not _wrong_ in any respects. I wonder…”

            “You wonder…”

            Alexander then smirked an evil smirk. “I wonder what would happen if I told everyone that you have a daddy kink. Nobody would doubt it for a second.”

            Running his hands through his hair, Thom said, “ _Jesus Christ, Hamilton, do_ not _do that.”_ At that moment, he resolved to never tell Alexander that his suspicion, unfortunately, was true.

            “You’re right, though, for once," agreed Alexander. “I can’t blemish my own reputation this early. I have to wait until it’s okay to be shitty to be shitty.

           "Let’s just not say anything to anyone about it and allow it die out.”

            “ _That’s_ why you’re concerned? Everyone already thinks of you as the ‘crazy smart transfer student’, there’s not much that can be done about that status. _”_ Thom sighed. “Anyway, sounds like a plan. I can’t ruin things with John. Or the rest of my life, for that matter.”

            “John,” Alexander repeated with scorn. “It’s all about John, huh?”

            Thom turned away from him. “I… I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

            Picking up his books, now fallen on the floor, Alex began to leave. “Figure out what you want with him.”

            Thom watched him as he left, thinking about the words that he had left hanging in the air. “You’re leaving to go hang out with John Laurens,” he stated.

            “Problem?” asked Alexander. “You have a problem that I like him more than I like you?”

            In response, Thom walked over to him and grabbed his collar. He pulled the two of them close together, kissing Alexander with all the pent-up frustration and anger he had. Alexander, in return, kissed him back.

            ”I honestly hate you so much,” breathed Alexander, face red from both the cold winter air and Thom’s kiss.

            “Get the fuck out of my life already,” Thom returned, going his separate way. The hateful words had become a sort of a mantra for the odd pair.

            Alex, who was more frustrated than anything at this point, walked back up the stair case, and into the music hall again. He walked looking down at the ground, recalling the words that he had once heard over the radio. ‘ _I feel so broke up, I want to go home,’_ he called to mind. He sighed. ‘ _That’s me right now, but I can’t go home_.’ He didn’t know why he was overcome with such a bout of homesickness so suddenly; in his three years in the United States so far, it hadn’t affected him too deeply. For Alexander, home was the small residence on Nevis in which he lived with his mother and James.

            It was also the place which he strove so deeply to forget.

            Maybe hearing Laurens talk about his own feelings had evoked these memories. Maybe it was just a bad day. Anyway.

            Alexander was walking down the hall, face to the ground, when he suddenly ran into something. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled before looking up to see who he’d run into. In front of him, he saw the face of a certain Aaron Burr. “ _Never mind,”_ he whispered.

            He hadn’t seen Aaron for about a week, and he was thankful for it. Nothing had happened between the two since their first encounter about a month ago, but there was still tension between them. Sometimes they awkwardly made eye contact in the hallway or in class, before they looked away, equally-awkward.

            “Alexander,” Aaron said, looking him up and down. “You’re exactly the person I was looking for.”

            “Uhm,” sniffed Alexander, with a tone of sass. “Is this like last time? Because I have things to do and frankly, I’m not really in the mood for confrontation.”

            “Actually, no,” replied Aaron, glaring at Alexander. “Can we forget about that?”

            “No.”

            Aaron sighed. “You’re my new debate partner,” he said. “Public forum debate requires-”

            “Two people, yes,” Alexander finished. ‘ _Excellent,’_ he thought. ‘ _This guy…’_

“Anyway, you’re in luck, because someone else dropped out of the team and you’re backup. Standardized testing is beneficial to K-12 education in the United States,” stated Aaron. “You do aff, I’ll do neg?”

            “Sure,” agreed Alexander. “And don’t think we’re friends.”

            “Wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Aaron, nodding. “Is Wednesday a good day to meet?”

            Alex thought for a moment, considering his availability. “Sounds like a plan. Wednesday, after school, in the library,” he said, walking away. He didn’t like Aaron, but he was impressed by his ability to put aside personal grievances in order to get work done.

            After a couple of minutes of walking, he finally found the empty classroom in which his group of _friends_ liked to study. He walked in and set his books down on a table across from Laurens. Only both Johns were present. The room was dim, as the shades were drawn shut.

 _“Actually_ ,” Alexander head John say. “ _The Empire Strikes Back_ is often regarded as one of the best cinematic sequels in history, and I agree completely. I uphold that it is just _better_ as a film than _A New Hope_. Oh, hey, Alex.”

           Alex turned around to face John. “Am I interrupting something here?” he asked. Alexander often wondered how, exactly, the two Johns had been able to become friends, given their opposite natures; Laurens, despite his stress level, always seemed to be relatively laid-back, but John Adams was tightly-wound and ready to snap at all times. They seemed to argue about geeky things often, though, which somehow had brought them together. “Also, where’s Lafayette?”

           Laurens explained from behind Alexander. “Who knows, honestly? And we’re arguing about whether _A New Hope_ or _The Empire Strikes Back_ is better. And other John is totally incorrect.”

           “Need I explain again why you’re wrong?” asked John, crossing his arms.            

           “Wait,” paused Alexander. “What are we arguing about, exactly? It’s a film and its sequel.” He turned around to face Laurens again, who was perplexed at this question.

           “You mean you really don’t know?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

           Alexander coughed. He hated having to explain himself for not knowing something. “Is this something I should know?”

           “Dude,” replied Laurens, still slightly shocked. “You’ve heard of _Star Wars_ , right?”

           Alexander nodded. He sat down on the nearest chair. “Of course, of course. It’s a series? I was under the impression that it was a single film. I think I’ve discussed this with you at some point, actually.”

           “You’ve been living under a rock for your entire life, let me tell you,” said Laurens, shaking his head.

           John chimed in from behind Alexander. “This is a god given message to us that we have to watch all of the films again.”

           Laurens nodded. “I completely agree with you for once, other John.”

           John replied, “And the best viewing order is 4 5 1 2 3 6.”

           “Hang on, that’s not-” began Laurens, only to be cut off by Alexander.

           “So, Aaron Burr is my new debate partner,” Alex interrupted. He looked at both Johns, who were clearly upset by this.

           John didn’t miss a beat before telling Alexander what to do. “Request to switch partners. Stay away from the evil.”

           “Actually, I don’t think you should do that, Alex,” said Laurens. “I don’t think that Aaron is that bad of a guy.”

           Alexander merely looked at Laurens, unbelieving what he had just heard him say. ‘ _What?’_ He thought, ‘ _You, of all people, Laurens?’_

           “He’s, uh, very passionate about what he says, and I, uh…” Laurens trailed, unsure how to defend himself. He looked around the room sheepishly. “I think that he could grow to be an okay person. And yes, before you ask, I’m fully aware that he essentially ruined my life. That’s all.”

           “You, of all people, other John?” called John from across the room, typing something on a computer. “Well, you’re probably right.”

           “I agree with Jack,” said Alexander. “I don’t like Aaron Burr, no, not one bit, but I’d like to figure out what’s going on inside his head...”

           “I’m glad you see it my way,” said John with a smile.

           “…defeat him,” Alexander finished. Laurens nodded in approval. John just looked at him, shocked.

 

 

            Lafayette was exhausted. His life, in a word, was _weight_. Lafayette was born with an iron plate strapped to his chest, and everything else was just extra weight on his back. Of course, there was the entire prospect of being in a foreign country and speaking a foreign language, but through time, he had learned to deal with it. What _really_ bothered him was just the feeling that despite everything, he wasn’t doing _enough._ He walked to the corner in which he liked to sit alone, and put his books down with a thump.

            “ _Pouah_ ,” he grumbled, sitting on a chair and leaning back. “ _Nap time._ ” Lafayette didn’t particularly like sleeping, but it was a good way to avoid problems. The area was quiet, and he soon fell asleep.

            He had been trying to sleep for fifteen minutes when he felt a tapping on one of his shoulders. He sighed heavily. ‘ _Can’t get any sleep around here,’_ he thought.

            “ _Mon dieu_ , Thom, fuck off…” he mumbled before he looked up to see George Washington standing over him.

            Lafayette tried to make up for his mistake dearly. “I, I’m so sorry, I, euh, thought you were someone else.”

            Washington didn’t react to this visibly. “Right. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I was wondering how you’re doing?”

            “How I’m doing?” repeated Lafayette, slightly confused.

            Washington sat down next to Lafayette and put his hand on his shoulder. “You seem to be under a lot of stress, and I’m worried that it’s affecting your health.”

            Lafayette shook his head in response. “I appreciate your concern, but I think I’m doing pretty well right now.” He knew it wasn’t true, but

            Washington raised an eyebrow as he stood up from his chair. “Okay, if you insist. If you have any problems, you can just tell me what you want, okay?”

            “Thank you for your concern,” Lafayette said, going back to sleep. ‘ _George Washington certainly is a genial individual. I like him.’_ It was a fifteen-minute break before he was bothered again.

            ‘ _Mon dieu,’_ he thought again, before looking up to see who it was. Why did people have to keep on bothering him? Why did he deserve this? ‘ _Oh.’_

            Lafayette looked up to see the face of a certain George Frederick. He internally groaned; he was _not_ ready for this sort of interaction today, and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

            “Hello, George,” Lafayette said, unenthusiastic.

            George grinned. “ _Gilbert_ , nice to see you,” he said gaily. George appeared to be doing well, as usual. There was an artificial quality about his smile, making Lafayette uncomfortable. He was visibly clean, and his hair looked soft.

            “Don’t call me that,” returned Lafayette. “Is there something I can help you with?”

            “Actually yes,” replied George, taking a seat next to Lafayette. He internally groaned again, but this groan was more of a scream. “I’m wondering if you’re interested in the winter play.”

            “The winter play,” Lafayette repeated, slightly confused.

            “Right!” George had a habit of methodically drumming his fingers on the desk, and it came out again now.

            Lafayette looked at George’s fingers, annoyed by the drumming. He immediately stopped. “I’ll think about it.” Great. Lafayette was _extremely_ easy to rope into things, and he had no idea when he was overdoing it.

            George smiled. “Great. Auditions are today and tomorrow. I think that John Adams is also going to be a part of it, but between you and me,” he lowered his voice greatly, in case anyone would overhear. “He’s not that great of an actor. I think that you’d be a natural on the stage, though. Really.” He stood up from his chair. “I’ll be going now.”

            “Right, see you later,” mumbled Lafayette as he watched George leave. The school play was something to alleviate his rising stress levels, and he was going to take him up on the offer. He would have to talk to John about it sometime.

 

           

           When Alexander returned home, he walked in his shared room to find Charles Willson Peale vivaciously examining his painting. He had started it over three months before, and finally, he was finished. Charles normally lacked confidence in his painting skills, but for once, he was _more_ than content with the result.

            “You’re done with your painting?” asked Alexander as he hung up his jacket on the back of the door.

            Charles held up the small canvas to show Alexander. “Yes!” he replied. “I’m actually _very_ happy with the final result.” The painting itself was one of a young girl sitting on the banister of a flight of stairs, wearing a lace dress. Conflicting with her sense of regality, her hair was a mess and she wore no shoes. Although the canvas itself was only about a square foot, the dimension itself made it look larger than that.

            “Glad to hear it,” said Alexander as he smiled. He was having a bad day, but he was happy for Charles. “I especially like the way you did the lighting on the clothes. Hey- you should paint me sometime,” he added with light humor.

            Charles huffed. “Alexander, please. I’m an _artist_. I take commissions,” he said as he gently picked up his canvas. It wasn’t large- only about a square foot- yet the dimension of the image itself gave the impression that it was much larger than that. “Well, I’m going to go show this to John Singleton now. Wish me luck.”

            Alexander raised an eyebrow as Charles opened the door to their shared room. “Doesn’t he always say that there’s ‘ _no good talent_ ’ these days?” Alexander made a slight mockery of John Singleton as he said ‘ _no good talent_ ’; he wasn’t overly fond of him. He didn’t _dislike_ John Singleton Copley, per say, but he didn’t like him either. He reminded Alexander too much of himself.

            “Yep,” Charles nodded nonchalantly as he left. “That’s why I need the luck.”

            Charles was nervous to show his creation to Copley; he was young, talented, and most importantly, salty beyond reason. A bit of a downer, to say the least, his intimidating aura tended to repel people away. He lived across the hall from Alexander and Charles, in a room shared with two others. However, he was gone so often that he was rarely seen by either.

            Charles walked to the room across the hall and knocked on the door, half-expecting nobody to answer; the older residents of the Home tended to spend as much time outside of it as possible. However, after a few seconds, it was opened- and by Copley, nonetheless. It was almost a moment deserving of celebration.

            As usual, Copley was tired. Who wouldn’t be, between school, trade school applications, and building up a portfolio? The extent of his fatigue, however, was evident in his rigid motions and lack of expression. Not that Copley was _usually_ a particularly animated character, but somehow, he seemed even more dead inside than usual. Charles couldn’t tell if he was wearing eyeliner, or if that was just the natural state of his eyes. In any case, the energetic Charles provided an almost humorous juxtaposition to him.

            Charles waved through the door, holding his small canvas in the other hand. “Hi, John Singleton Copley,” he said cheerfully, albeit apprehensively. ‘ _Oh no, I’m bothering him, he hates me, might as well turn back now, oh no, I can’t do that, god_ please _help me now or I will-’_ His thought was cut off by Copley.

            “Charles,” he said, his atmosphere slightly lifted by Charles’s presence. He knew that Charles was slightly afraid of him, but he didn’t know why. He actually enjoyed the other’s presence, and saw a bit on himself in him. “What is it?”

            “Uhhh….” Charles trailed, trying to recollect his thought. Oh no, Copley was looking at him. At him! He had to answer _now_. “I was wondering if you’d look at this… for me… it’s a thing I made.”

            Copley opened his door completely, inviting Charles in. As usual, the room was immaculate. Copley was a nervous cleaner. Despite the presence of three people’s worth of things, it was all neatly organized. “A thing?” he repeated. “Be more articulate.”

            “It’s a painting,” Charles answered confidently. “I worked on it for, three months, actually, and you’re the most qualified person I know to critique it, so I was wondering if you would actually…”

            Copley sighed, gesturing for Charles to set his work on the table. “Just let me look at it, okay?” He hated that he was being soft- he hated letting down his sphinxlike atmosphere, even for a moment, but he admittedly had a soft space for Charles. He reminded him too much of when he was younger and hadn’t been jaded by the world.

            He took his time to look up and down the work, occasionally focusing on a small bit for a longer period of time. Charles watched him apprehensively as he absorbed every detail. After about three minutes, Copley finally looked back at him.

            “This is acrylic paint,” Copley astutely commented.

            “Yes,” answered Charles, despite the lack of a question. _‘Follow yourself up, Charles!’_ “I don’t know how to use oil paints.”

            Copley took another minute to look at the young artist’s work again, this time examining it with far more scrutiny. “Charles, this is…”

            He winced. “T-terrible? Bad? Should I completely scrap the piece?”

            Copley shook his head. “What makes you think that?” he asked gently. In return, Charles shrugged. “No,” said Copley, in a firmer tone than before. He remembered less than fondly the days when he was as afflicted with anxiety as Charles was. “Answer me seriously.”

            Charles looked at the ground instead of making eye contact with him. “I don’t know, I thought that maybe… I don’t know.”

            “You lack enough confidence in your work to be showing it to me,” sighed Copley. “Try again when you think your piece is worth showing the world.” At this, he walked over and once again opened the door to the room.

            “W-wait!” exclaimed Charles, unwilling to be let go so easily. This time, he understood the message; if he didn’t adopt a sense of confidence in his own works, then nobody else would. He looked Copley in the eye this time. “I actually think my painting is _good,_ and to be frank, I don’t really care whoever thinks it’s awful. I’d like you to look at it and critique my technical skills.”

            Copley shut the door again, a bit surprised by Charles’s lack of passiveness. His face contorted into the closest it would get to a true smile, something which rarely happened. Of course, he put on his poker face once again as he turned around. “Good. Now do you really want to know what I think of this?” he asked.

            Charles looked at the ground again briefly. “Actually, I, uh…” he started before catching himself. “Yes, actually, I do. Lay it on me.” ‘ _Does it sound like I’m trying too hard?”_

“Well, Charles, I think,” Copley paused for a moment, finding the right words to complete his sentence. “what you’ve done is excellent.”

            Charles’s face lit up immediately. “ _Really_?” he asked unbelievingly.

            “Did I fucking stutter?” asked Copley.

            “ _John Singleton!”_ The two heard Hugh Mulligan call in the background. Copley shook his head.

            “Anyway. You got talent, kid. I especially like the way you’ve done her clothes and background. Do you know the word _d’apparat_?” Copley gently picked up the canvas, examining the layers upon layers of paint much more deeply. He gestured for Charles to take a seat at the table with him. Oh, god, Copley usually dismissed Charles after giving a few words of advice. This meant a longer, much lengthier conversation.

            Charles raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that like, when the clothes and background are super detailed?”

            “Precisely. Well, kind of,” replied Copley. “It’s essentially what you’ve done here. Also, I think you could work on your anatomy. Have you been around that Hesselius guy lately?” A sudden bitter look came on his face. John Singleton Copley believed that the world was slowly losing its talent, but more so, he believed that the lack of talent of John Hesselius, Charles’s art teacher, balanced out the rest of humanity. A popular local artist, his regime was unescapable. Copley’s hatred for Hesselius was shallow, but it ran deeply. He simply made bad art.

            “Eh…” said Charles, albeit weakly. “He’s kind of inescapable.”

            “Ugh,” groaned Copley. He _could_ let down his demeanor around Charles, he realized, and Charles wouldn’t judge him for it. “I can critique your work, but I’m not good at teaching techniques.”

            “What are you sayi-” started Charles, only to be cut off.

            “Slow down, slow down,” gestured Copley. “As I was saying, _which is why_ you should talk to Benjamin West, a good friend of mine.”

            Charles closed his eyes and tried to think of where he’d heard the name before. ‘ _Benjamin West,’_ he thought. ‘ _Oh!’_

            “I think my friend Edmund knows him. Edmund Jenings,” he said confidently. “And maybe Ralph.”

            Copley, despite himself, appeared to be surprised. “Ralph Earl? You know him?” Charles nodded eagerly. “Small world,” he commented. “Anyway, I’ll ask him next time I see him if he’s interested in talking to you.” He gestured at Charles’s small canvas, now becoming darker and darker as the sun went down. “Can I…?”

            Charles nodded. “By all means! I’m excited. I mean, painting _was_ kind of a second choice for me, but I’m growing to enjoy it more and more as a hobby. It’s relaxing.”

            “What do you mean, ‘ _second choice?’_ asked Copley.

            ‘ _Oh, no. He’s asking me a personal question. Answer! Answer!’_ “Well…”

            It was a long conversation that the two had after that, and the one in which Charles learned why, exactly, Copley was as jaded to the world as he was.

            “My parents owned a tobacco business,” Copley explained over tea. “And then my dad died, and then my mom remarried, but her new husband didn’t want custody of me, which is why I’m here. I took up painting and studying art as a way to get away from everything, and, well, look where I am now.” It was the first time that he had told his to anyone other than Ben West, and it certainly felt _good_. He _trusted_ Charles, despite their four-year age difference. Good was a word uncharacteristic to Copley, a word that he couldn’t trust. He wasn’t sure that he ever would.

 

 

            It was Wednesday already, and John was having a bad day. No, maybe a bad week. Perhaps it was a bad year? No- he decided. His entire life was just bad. Now, for the sake of clarity, _bad_ was a term defined by Oxford English Dictionary as “ _of poor quality; inferior or defective”_. Likewise, we shall abbreviate _life_ as meaning “ _continual change preceding death_ ”. Yeah, that sounded about right to him.

            I mean, don’t get it wrong. He knew that by most standards, his life was good, even excellent. Who wouldn’t want to be an upper middle class white guy in the United States? Standard of living- good. Privilege? Hell yes. It wasn’t really the technical stuff that bothered him, and this fact bothered him a _lot_. He was a _policy_ debater, and a damn good one. He _lived_ for technicality and analysis. The question was never, “should we do it?”. It was always, “How exactly are we going to do it?”.

            Emotions were a different subject entirely, and he didn’t understand.

            Especially why they afflicted him so. Why did they have to do that? There were no definitions, there was no prep time, there was no opening speech. They were just there, and went at it like _savages_. It was all about that terrible boy, wasn’t it? Emphasis on _terrible_. Awful? Dreadful? Rotten? Not even a thesaurus could supply him with the precise word he needed to use. For now, _difficult_ was the closest it would get.

            In John’s world outside of analysis, he imagined everyone and everything to be planets. Of course, he was the sun. His _own_ world revolved around himself. After all, who else? Thomas Jefferson was Mercury, hot one minute and cold the next, revolving too fast and too dense. He didn’t have a Venus. Perhaps that was Thom as well, he sometimes thought for a quick amusement. John Laurens was probably the Earth, as mellow and mother-like as he was. Actually, that would work rather well, because Venus and Earth were often considered sister planets. Hm. There’s a thought.

            And then there’s Sam Adams. And Sam is Mars, the god of war. The one who everyone cared about, the _famous_ and _well-liked_ Adams, oho. Not him. In fact, he sometimes thought that he was Phobos, for fear of crashing into Mars within the next 10 million years. Hopefully, that would throw the solar system slightly off-balance. If only.

            John didn’t really know how his own thought process worked; contrary to himself, it was unorganized, and, as previously defined, _bad_. Oh yeah, and John Hancock was Deimos. Peter and Elihu were probably Vesta and Ceres, respectively. Maybe the other way around?

            Anyway.

            He supposed that the entire solar system analogy for his life really hinged on Sam as Mars. The protestor, advocate, _renegade_ , second-cousin, the important one, the one John could never live up to. It occupied his mind rather often.

            No, he was over it.

            Or at least he would be, someday. He was sure of it.

            John put that thought in the back of his mind, and proceeded to move on with his _life_. The bad one, of course. It was time to leave the house and go to school. Bother. It was another day in which John would pretend to be smart. Smart! Another definition, once again Oxford English Dictionary- “ _having or showing a quick-witted intelligence_ ”, or perhaps “ _showing impertinence by making clever or sarcastic remarks_ ”. Either way, it was something John didn’t believe he had the natural capacity to be. He was _knowledgeable_ , certainly- “ _intelligent and well-informed”_. Smart was a different subject altogether, and unfortunately the one which he didn’t have a total grasp on.

            _Smart_. Huh. For now, pretending would have to do. Pretending was good.

 _And another thing!_ Don’t tell John, but it’s kind of a wonder that he’s _so_ obsessed with other peoples’ attention. He knew this, but didn’t want to admit it to himself. Attention was something he constantly felt deprived of. No definition necessary, because it was already evident. He didn’t _want_ other people to acknowledge him, he _craved_ it.

           John had a lot going on in his mind, but no _mind_ for any of it. Oh, hey, there’s Lafayette.

           “John,” said Lafayette. “You’re doing the school play, right?”

           “Yeah,” John answered. It was about attention again. “What about it?”

           Lafayette shrugged. “I think I’m going to, euh, audition. George Frederick told me to.” There was a tinge of nervousness in his voice; maybe even Lafayette had stage fright sometimes.

           “You should!” confirmed John. “I’m not that great of an actor, but it’s a good way to go.”

           Lafayette thought about it for a moment, before replying “Sure.” With the one word, the conversation was over. Just like that. John reckoned that he should learn to do that someday.

 

 

            It was finally Wednesday, and Alexander was actually looking forward to the part when he could talk to Aaron Burr. After all, he had his dear Laurens’s approval; albeit not needing it, it was nice to know that someone was with him. As usual, his hands were full of papers as he struggled to push open the door to the school library. Finally, Burr stood up and opened it for him.

            “Hi, Alexander,” he said smugly as he watched Alexander stumble to a table and set all of his things down.

Alexander pulled out a chair. “I actually prefer to go by Alex,” he replied, opening his battered notebook to the last section. “Let’s cut the chatter and get to work, beloved debate partner.”

            “Right…” trailed Burr as he did the same. “Which case do you want to work on first?” he asked, opening his laptop and opening a file. ‘ _This guy...’_

            “Actually,” offered Alexander, completely dropping his air of salt. “I was thinking that we would swap opening statements and cases and highlight all the weak points in the argument first.”

            Aaron thought about it for a second before nodding. He slid his laptop across the table to Alexander, who again followed suit. Alexander briefly skimmed the paper over before beginning to type furiously on the document. Burr wasn’t a fool, and this could be seen through his writing. He _knew_ what he was talking about. However, the writing itself was lackluster and overall, just _not passionate enough_. ‘ _I see how Burr likes to play it,’_ Alex thought as he changed nearly every sentence of the opening. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aaron do the same. They slid each other’s respective speeches back across the desk.

            “Aaron, I fixed some parts of your speech,” said Alexander, eyeing him. There was an unresolved tension in the room which made both of them highly uncomfortable. “I thought it was rather, um, dry, and I added some more descriptive nouns.”

            “Right,” Aaron, scrolling through his speech. “I think yours had some good points, but overall, you need to work on your _brevity_.” The word brevity hung in the air.

            “What do you mean?”

            Aaron took a deep breath. “You haven’t written a speech before, have you? You have to keep your important parts brief, so they stick in other people’s minds.”

            “In that case, Aaron,” prodded Alexander, “your statements are _too_ brief. You need more passion.” Okay, he was slightly offended that Aaron Burr, of all people, thought that he’d never written a speech before.

            Aaron shook his head. “You don’t understand. That’s the _point_. I go heavy on the theatrics.”

            “Right,” Alexander sighed. “Let’s go into the hall to practice first, before any further comments are made.” The two went into the hall, and Alexander watched first as Aaron performed his speech. Although it was only three minutes long, it was persuasive. His tone was excellent; despite the lackluster of the speech itself, Aaron was so convincing that he managed to pull it off.

            ‘ _Okay. My turn,’_ thought Alexander. ‘ _I can do better.’_

He didn’t do better. Alexander’s style of speaking was more of a ‘how-many-words-can-I-say-within-three-minutes’ sort of style, combined with enough energy and articulateness to make it worth listening to. His points and manner of speech, however, were excellent. With dismay, he noted duly that he would probably make an excellent pair with Aaron due to the polar oppositeness of their natures. And that meant that he would have to take him seriously.

Jerkferson was right; this Aaron guy was someone worth watching.

            As for Laurens, he was like the rest of the gang; he wasn’t having a great week, either. There was the extended break coming up, which should have been a bit of a breather, but it wasn’t. He had signed up to work overtime for every day, taking one for the team when the others would spend time with their loved ones. They had thanked him for taking over their shifts, but he didn’t mind. He never minded. After all, it was something to take his mind off of the fact that it would be Thanksgiving and that there was nobody to celebrate with him. He hadn’t thought about it much, in fact; Laurens was fairly certain that his friends had deliberately decided to avoid the subject, just for him. After all, everything was just to avoid the larger problem that Laurens was trying to escape, that after eleven months, he was still devastated inside.

            He was alone in the world, with nobody to turn to. His situation was a bit complicated, with Henry still paying his expenses for school and the like, but other than that, there was nobody to lean on. He’d often heard the phrase, “ _If you want to get it done right, do it yourself_.” Yeah, well that was a lie. Nobody ever tells you that you have to learn to do it right first.

            This day wasn’t special for Laurens. It was one of the many days when he looked longingly at his phone, sometimes dialing Henry’s number, but never pressing the button to call. After all, what would he say? “I’m sorry”? For what? Or perhaps, “Let’s start over again”? The damage had already been done, and at this point, there was nothing that could be done to fix it. Instead, Laurens fished his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number of his good friend, Thom. He was the friend who had taken him in for months when he was trying to get on his feet, let alone walk.

            “Hey,” he said when the phone connected. Walking outside in the warm winter air, he kicked at the leaves which had fallen on the ground.

            “John?” the voice on the other end asked. “What’s up?”

            Laurens sighed. “I’m just, uh, kind of lonely. If you’re busy, I can hang up now.”

            The line on the other end went silent for a moment. “Are you busy right now?”

            “Actually,” responded Laurens. “I’m walking back to my apartment now. I don’t really want to go in. It’s too quiet.”

            There was some jostling coming through the phone. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there,” said Thom, before hanging up abruptly. A lot could be said about him, but at least he was reliable.

            Laurens stopped in his tracks for a moment, and looked directly at the setting sun. He let it burn into his eyes for a few moments before he kept walking. Maybe he wasn’t _as_ alone in the world as he thought, but he knew that from here, it would only go downhill, and ultimately, it would end up worse than before. He didn’t like waiting, but it was the only thing he could do.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cursive is quite an interesting word. The stem is the Latin "currere", meaning "to run", which mutated into "curs", which then became "course", and then cursive as a derivative of course. Related to words such as curriculum and, interestingly, chariot, from which we have the word car.  
> This chapter was rewritten three times over the course of a month, and is probably my favorite to date.  
> Discussion question: Who do you think is the most important character and why? I think it's John Adams.


	6. La Lutine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> La Lutine: the mischievous sprite  
> Nothing's going well, per se, but it's going.  
> Alexander is uncomfortable with just how well Thom manages to avoid the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter.

 

                 In Thom’s opinion, there were few people who had better mastered the skill of avoiding the problem than he had.

‘ _December_ ,’ he thought, starting the ignition to his car. ‘ _It’s already December.’_ It didn’t feel like it was the month of wonder and happiness, in which everyone was supposed to unite in brotherhood. For one, there was no snow on the ground, unusual for the Annapolis weather. It detracted from the _wonder_ aspect of the month; instead of being cold and pretty, it was just cold. The happiness was slowly draining from everyone’s lives as finals week approached, and brotherhood was impossible to achieve when everyone hated everyone. Thom was becoming a more and more cynical person, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

                The last thing to detract from the joyousness of the season was the fact that it was December, almost onto a new year, and Thom hadn’t done anything all year. There was certainly academic success, extracurricular success, and overall glory to grace his every step, but it wasn’t enough. He always liked to point out that there was a lot which could be done if one was always _doing_ , but that wasn’t the problem. He hadn’t done any more than when he started, and this was glaringly obvious to him.

                ‘ _New year, new me,”_ thought Thom, pulling out of his driveway. ‘ _Yeah, right._ ’ There were some things that would never change. It was almost funny. For now, though, there were things to do and places to be. Namely, he was probably going to walk around Whole Foods for a couple of hours, buy groceries, and then come home.

\---

                It was on Monday that the shitstorm really started. At first, everyone was being hush-hush about the matter, but sooner or later, the news came out openly. Thom, being himself, had inferred what had gone on, but the details were still unclear. Despite claiming to not care about drama and gossip, he was often caught up in the midst of it all. And when the future valedictorian got into a fight with the most affluent and well-known person in the school, it might have been worth it.

                ‘ _A fight,_ ’ thought Thom. ‘ _This is going to be a good one_.” As someone who was a friend of George Washington, he was asked if he knew anything about it, but he shrugged and sighed; although he didn’t seem to look or act the part, he didn’t particularly like speaking to people he didn’t know well.

                ‘ _Is school even about learning anymore_?’ he wondered as he walked to his next class. Along with the art of mastering avoiding the problem, he prided himself on being able to blend into a crowd of people when he needed to, something which had been difficult due to his height. He had two main rules for doing this: never walk in the center of a path, and never look away from the destination. There wasn’t much he wanted in life but to be left alone. Somehow, however, it always seemed to be him who contradicted this dear wish.

                It was time for orchestra. Orchestra was a good class, one in which Thom could lose himself to his mind and his violin. It was always the others who got in the way of a perfect set, wasn’t it?

\---

                ‘ _A fight,_ ’ thought Alexander, concerned for the futures of his upperclassmen. ‘ _This ought to be good. And right before finals week, at that!’_ He was one much concerned with drama, although he didn’t like to admit it. A self-proclaimed _gossipy bitch_ , he had to find the details out immediately.

                From what he could piece together from several reports, there wasn’t actually any physical violence, but rather verbal attacks coming from both sides. A yell-fight admittedly wasn’t as _exciting_ , but at least nobody had gotten hurt. Both Georges were tall and fairly evenly matched, so in the case of a physical fight, there would be no doubt about someone going to the hospital. George Frederick did have some visible bruises, but apparently this was unrelated to the situation at hand. The instigator was unclear, but Alex knew that it was most likely George Frederick, who started shit for the fun of it. It wasn’t as if he’d have to strive to succeed in life, so why would he? Not to mention that he was essentially guaranteed success in life with his acceptance to the University of Chicago.

                George Washington, on the other hand, was _so_ not over it. He tended to be a very stoic figure, never showing emotion, and when he did, it was either concern or anger. Alexander, at least, had never seen him actually upset. He didn’t know if it was about the various rumors which had started to spread about him or the sheer fact that he had gotten in a fight, but there was something which left a bitter taste in Alexander’s mouth. That George Frederick, he seemed like a nice enough guy on first glance, but there was _something_ about him which made everyone skeptical.

                “George,” called Alexander, spotting his upperclassman from across the hallway. George looked exasperated, undoubtedly having been stopped by several people before him.

                George turned around partially and stood in the empty hallway, waiting for Alex to reach his place. “Don’t tell me you’re…” he started, leaving the end of the sentence up to imagination. _Going to ask me about the damn ‘fight’._

                “Actually, no,” Alexander said, looking up to meet his eyes. “I’m wondering if you’re doing okay.”

                George sighed. “Define ‘okay’, Alexander.”

                Alexander thought for a moment before he was able to formulate an acceptable response. “Not bad,” he answered. It wasn’t a particularly good definition, but it would have to do.

                “Uh…” trailed off George uncharacteristically. It wasn’t often that he left sentences hanging in the air, and even less often that he didn’t meet someone’s eyes as he was speaking to them “Can I be honest with you?” he asked.

                Alexander didn’t actually expect George to give a straightforward answer, but he was happy to be of assistance to his… friend? Upperclassman? “Don’t worry, I’m here to hear you out.”

                George hung his head. “Well,” he said in a hushed tone. Despite the emptiness of the hallway, he didn’t want anyone to overhear what he was saying. The two hadn’t moved an inch from where they originally stood. “Someone’s probably going to get kicked off of the student council, and seeing as the cards are stacked against me, it’s probably going to be me. Two people already left.”

                Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Explain,” he said. ‘ _Was that too straight forward?’_

                “For one thing, I’m not going to college,” replied George, without having to think about it. He had clearly put quite a bit of thought into his probable demotion, “so it doesn’t really matter if I get this experience or not. There’s also the fact that it can be played as if I’m being demoted because I have too much on my plate already.”

                “I see,” nodded Alexander. “You’re not going to college?” he asked. This was the part that confused him the most. With the stellar academic prowess and credentials of George Washington, there was no reason that he shouldn’t proceed with secondary education. If it was a financial matter, he was an excellent candidate for scholarships.

                George looked away again, unsure of himself. Alexander felt privileged that he was allowed to see a side of him which nobody else probably saw. He didn’t know why he had gained so much of his trust, but he treasured it. he took a deep breath. “I’m not going to university because I don’t want to let it define me.”

‘ _That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.’_

                He continued, and Alexander hoped that he didn’t let his true thoughts show on his face. He was terrible at hiding his emotions. “I don’t want to end up with a dead-end desk job that I hate at age 35. I have an internship set up after high school, and I’ll just see how it goes from there. Maybe I’ll do classes at the community college. Anyway, I should get going. Thanks for letting me vent for a bit.”

                “Oh, um,” said Alexander. “No problem. I’ll see you later.” The two went their separate ways. He was just glad that the conversation had ended before he said something too charged. Now, for the real challenge; he needed to speak to Thom.

                Thom was very predictable, and thus easy to find. Alex knew that at this time, he would be tucked away in a corner of the library where nobody could see him, either reading or studying. It was the subject matter which would be more, um, difficult. As he approached the library, now only a few feet away, he took a deep breath.

                The library itself was well-lit and spacious. There were tables in the center and large armchairs on the sides. The books themselves lined the room, organized and cleanly divided, and one wall was pure window. Alexander preferred to browse the classic and science sections often, always finding something of interest.

                This time, however, he approached his boyfriend with a serious manner. Luckily, the library was full of people, so it wasn’t too quiet.

 _“Thom_ ,” Alex said quietly. The other boy looked up, slightly surprised that someone had bothered him. It didn’t happen often. However, in the light of things, he looked at Alexander without any mal intent. “ _We need to talk about what happened yesterday.”_

                Thom set down his book, meticulously marking the page he was at. He blew a stand of hair out of his face. “There’s nothing to talk about.” He promptly resumed his reading- a biography of Caligula, it looked like, ignoring Alexander, clearly in distress. Finally, he resorted to grabbing Thom by the ear and leading him out of the room. He wondered how watching the scene as a spectator would have looked like, but he didn’t think about it too much.

                “ _Hey, hey, hey_ ,” Thom angrily quietly exclaimed. It didn’t hurt, but Alex’s iron grip was aggravating. “Let’s talk, just let me go!” The two then went into an empty classroom, not bothering to turn on the lights.

                Alexander paced back and forth, not knowing what to say. “So, um…” he started.

                Thom sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back on a desk. “I sucked your dick and vice versa. Is that all you had to say?”

                Alexander stopped in his tracks and looked at his boyfriend angrily. “That was kind of a big deal for me! Stop being so nonchalant!”

                “I’ll say it again. There’s nothing to talk about.” Thom looked up at the bored ceiling, exasperated.

                Alexander was still pacing, wringing his hands. “I don’t know what I’m feeling and it’s making me nervous.”

                Thom watched him go back and forth in front of the desks before he replied, “You could probably make a lot of money as a prostitute if you needed the cash.”

                “Are you suggesting that I whore myself out to you?” asked Alexander.

                “Uh,” answered Thom. At this, he finally understood Alexander’s level of discomfort. “Listen, you need to tell me exactly what your problem is.”

                “I don’t know,” admitted Alexander. “That was just my first sexual experience, ever, and I’m frustrated about it.” For once, he didn’t have the words to properly express himself.

                Thom raised an eyebrow. “Ever? And I mean, like, ever? You’ve never, I don’t know, jacked off or anything?”

                Alexander shook his head. “No, I never really thought about it that seriously.”

                “Well, uh, did you like putting your dick in my mouth?” asked Thom. He didn’t really know how to react to this situation. At least he tried. However, no response came from Alexander. “Because I sure did,” he answered his own question.

                “ _Thom!”_

                “Okay, okay.” This was more awkward than it should have been. “Listen, essentially, do you want to go any further? That’s the most important question. Actually, more importantly, are you comfortable around me?”

                Alexander sighed, and sat on top of the desk which Thom was sitting at. “I’m not opposed to the idea.”

                “You didn’t answer my second question.” A heavy silence hung around the room.

                “Sure,” answered Alexander, unsure.

                Thom sighed again. “You can’t just say _sure_. This is about you. It has to be either _yes_ or _no_.”

                Finally, Alexander nodded. “Yes. You’re surprisingly conscious about consent.”

                “Well, yeah,” Thom shrugged. “I don’t want to be responsible for like, fucking you up completely or anything. Sex isn’t a one-sided deal. That happens way too often.”

                “So,” started Alexander. “how many people have you had sex with?” he asked. He felt as if he had a right to know.

                Thom had to think about it for a moment. “Actually, just John and Thomas Walker. Unless you count Edward Stevens, which I don’t.”

                “Thomas Walker?” he inquired. This name was new to his ears. “Fucking someone with the same name as you. That’s an experience.”

                Thom looked at the floor, reminiscing of his days with _Thomas_. “We split a bottle of cheap wine and then he fucked me on his bedroom floor.”

                “ _Real classy,”_ whispered Alexander. “You know, I actually thought that James was your bitch boy for a while.”

                “Shut the fuck up,” was Thom’s only reply. “So has this been enough _talking_ for you?”

                “Yeah, I guess,” Alex shrugged. “I just feel kind of unclean and uncomfortable, still. I’m…”

                “You’re…”

                “I’m too weak for you,” he finished. “I don’t know why you’re so _good_ at being desirable, or if it’s something you actively work at, but… it makes me kind of jealous, you know?” He didn’t know if they were the right words, but they got the point across well.

                Thom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was something that he’d heard too many times before. “What do you mean?”

                Alexander explained, “It’s like nobody can ever tell what you’re thinking unless you decide to _tell them_ what you’re thinking. For lack of batter terms, you’re _the_ manic pixie dream boy. I mean, you’re fucking going to France for a year.”

                Standing up, Thom once again, brushed his hair out of his face. “I’m sorry you think that,” he said as he quietly exited the room.

\---

                “ _What?”_ Lafayette exclaimed as he looked through the callback list for the musical, John at his side. “I didn’t get a callback? And all these other people did? Who weren’t as good as me?”

                Although John was clearly ecstatic at his name at the top of the list, he was sympathetic towards Lafayette. “Talk to George Frederick about it. He did it on purpose so you would go talk to him.”

                “I might just do that,” sighed Lafayette. “Thanks for the advice, John.”

                “Yeah, no problem!”

                So, time to find George Frederick, huh? That fucker was up to something bad, and Lafayette was pretty sure he knew why he’d been cut from the cast list. It gave him an anxious, sick feeling which he didn’t like one bit. He wished that Peter Stephen was here to comfort him, but he was off in another part of America.

                It didn’t take long for Lafayette to find George; he was in his usual spot in the tech booth with his close friends, Murry and William. The stairwell up to the booth was cold and steep; it made Lafayette feel as if he was trying to run, to hide from something, when in fact he was doing the opposite. Murry and Drayton were kind enough, but they too were slightly, euh, sketchy.

                “Lafayette?” someone called from the top of the stairwell. It took him aback, but he kept on going. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw that it was Murry who had called.

                Murry grinned. “Knew you by the sound of your footsteps,” he said, proud of himself. Right…

                Lafayette went directly to the point, and looked at George Frederick. Before he had the chance to open his mouth, Frederick spoke.

                “Lafayette!” he exclaimed. The sound of Lafayette’s name reverberated across the auditorium, making him cringe. Frederick’s voice hurt his ears. ”I was actually hoping to see you today.”

                “ _When are you not?”_ Lafayette muttered.

                George waved goodbye to Murry and William, and led Lafayette down the stairs again into the empty, dimly-lit auditorium. “You’re inquiring about why you’re not on the cast list,” he stated. He knew exactly what he was doing. “You know why.”

                Lafayette glared at George. “I know why, and I want you to explain yourself.” He got this sentence out without a wrong word or stutter, and was proud of this fact.

                George looked into Lafayette’s eyes with a genuine tinge of sympathy and put a hand on his shoulder. “The world isn’t ready for you,” he said. He believed in his words.

                “You think the world isn’t _ready_ for me?” At this point, Lafayette was irate. He threw George’s hand off of his shoulder. “That’s garbage. What you are saying is that _you_ are not ready to accept me.”

                George looked at the ground. Lafayette was right, but he couldn’t admit it. He wasn’t ready to admit that he was, in fact, the one who was in the wrong. He settled for, “You’re Jack Jouett’s understudy.”

                “That’s bullshit.” Lafayette, despite himself, was impressed with his own usage of angry words. “You’re afraid of something too, aren’t you? The fight you had with George Washington?”

                He looked at Lafayette quizzically. “Where are you going with this line of questioning?” he asked.

                Lafayette actually didn’t know. He had to make something up, fast. “You’re afraid of how it’s going to hurt your identity,” he plainly stated. Based on the guilty look on George’s face, he had struck a chord correctly. Win! “I don’t see how your problem is any different from mine.”

                George Frederick didn’t expect this level of meta from Lafayette, and finally decided to drop everything altogether. He was one for working on the sets, and not one for confrontation. “I’ll cast you,” he said, finally. “Okay?”

                “Sounds good,” replied Lafayette, leaving before George could change his mind. ‘ _I didn’t think it would be so easy.’_

                George sighed heavily, wondering when Lafayette became so perceptive or if he’d always been this way. Either way, he was a threat.

\---

                Thom wasn’t prepared for the surprise he received when he got home. For once, his mother was actually present in the house at the same time that he was. She’d been home a surprising amount lately, but she always came late in the night or during the day when Thom wouldn’t be there. He wondered if she did this intentionally, or if it was just the way things would be. Lafayette wasn’t present, as he had to stay after school for play rehearsal. Thom wasn’t sure exactly how, but he had gotten George Frederick to change his mind about something. It was a rare event.

                When Thom came in through the garage door, he was ready for another day of silence and his own company. However, he was immediately greeted from another part of the house.

                “Thomas!” a voice called. “You’re home?”

                Thom immediately dropped his books and went towards the source. It seemed to be in the office up the stairs. “Mom?” he called. He opened the door, and caught a glimpse of his mother’s ginger hair. “It’s you,” he said.

                Jane was a rather small woman with soft lines etched into her slender face. To outsiders, she appeared to be a sweet, thoughtful woman, adorned with freckles and soft ginger hair. Every time Thom saw her, which was only twice a week at best, she appeared to be getting older.

                “It’s me,” she said, peering over her glasses at her son. She looked slightly more uncomfortable than she had been before he arrived.

                “You’re always gone,” he commented, sitting down on one of the chairs to the side of the room. It had been a while since he had spoken to her about anything of importance. Their relationship hadn’t been the same since Peter had left; it was since then that she had given up her will to maintain a good relationship with her son, and Thom couldn’t blame her. He had fallen into a downward spiral, and hadn’t quite recovered. He knew this was his fault, however, because he had never tried.

                The two sat in silence for a few minutes, unsure what to say. They didn’t know each other. Thom excused himself from the room, and took his leave. He checked his watch. _‘Well, it’s about time to go pick up Lafayette_ ,’ he thought. He was glad that he had the other boy to lean on. Of course, Lafayette could have left or switched host families at any time; it was a wonder that he didn’t.

                Yeah, Thom wasn’t okay. He _thought_ he was okay, even more than most, but with everything to balance, he was cracking under the stress. Somehow he managed to stay intact, but nobody knew how. Unbeknownst to him, people were actually _worried_ about him. He didn’t consider himself to be a person worth caring about, let alone worrying about him.

                “Thom,” Lafayette told him one day, “you’re cutting yourself off from everyone else. You’re going to drown.” Thom took it as a lie. Things such as ‘ _you need to come up for air_ ’ or ‘ _you’re going to sink’_ were often said to him, but he let them go over his head completely; he didn’t know how to swim, so he’d rather just stay on the land from the beginning, thanks. If anything, it was _Lafayette_ who was going to drown first. He didn’t really know what he was so upset about all the time, but it was something important, probably.

                Every day was essentially the same thing; get home, study, practice the cello, study, eat something maybe, study, study, study. This may have been Alexander’s ideal schedule, but it sure wasn’t Thom’s. He was just fundamentally different from his peer; he didn’t function well under stress, and ended up breaking down. He’d ended up crying from fatigue one day in orchestra, actually that happened a lot, but it wasn’t too important. He just needed to get out of the house more, probably. Yeah, it wasn’t too big of a deal.

…

                Alexander was _excited_ , if not _ecstatic_ to finally go home after the long school day. Everything going on had been too emotionally draining, even for him. Although it didn’t really feel like home, it was the closest he would get. And who better was there to meet him in the front room than Hercules Mulligan?

                “Hi, Hercules,” he offered as he put his house key back inside his backpack. Hercules was reading a magazine about embroidery; he was fairly certain that the only reason the Mulligans run the establishment was because Hercules needed the money for trade school. Although he was only in his early twenties, he acted like a dad.

                Hercules didn’t bother looking up from his magazine to greet Alexander. “I am Hercules,” he said. “What’s up, Alexander?”

                He sighed. “Yikes,” he said, not going into any further detail. “Who’s the extra car in the driveway?”

                “Mary Thaxton’s son,” replied Hercules, flipping a page. “It’s a little strange how nobody ever refers to him as anything other than _Mary Thaxton’s son_ but I’m sure as hell not breaking the pattern.”

                “ _Someone’s got money_ ,” he muttered. “I’ve never met him.”

                “Name’s John,” said Hercules finally looking up at Alexander. “Yeah, I know you’re thinking ‘ _another one?_ ’. Oh yeah, also, did you hide the, uh,” he lowered his voice, “ _stuff_ I gave you?”

                Alexander waved his hand. “Y-yeah, don’t worry. Well, I’m off.” He went into the kitchen, where he knew he would probably be able to make the acquaintance of Mary Thaxton’s son. He was right.

                Mary Thax- um, _John,_ wasn’t very distinctive, to Alexander’s disappointment. He was taller than Alexander (who wasn’t?) and had a pleasant face, albeit a generic one. His only distinctive features were his thick black hair and his crooked nose, which had clearly been broken recently and never professionally treated. Not in a bad way, but it was what it was. All-in-all, he was probably more attractive than Thom, but whether he had a shit personality or not was the final factor in the matter.

                John rapidly flipped closed the phone he was texting on at the sound of Alexander’s entry, putting the device in his short pocket. “Have I met you before?” he asked. “I don’t think so.”

                “No,” Alexander said, outstretching his hand. “I’m Alexander Hamilton, pleased to meet you.”

                “Johnny Hancock,” Johnny replied, taking his hand. “I like your name,” he said. “Has a ring to it. My mom’s mentioned you a few times before.” Okay, Johnny was attractive and charismatic.

                Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard your name before.” He tried to recall where he’d heard it before. “You’re… model UN god?”

                He chuckled. “If that’s what people call me these days, I’ll take it. You go to Frederick High School?” Johnny resisted the urge to ask, “ _How_?”

                “Scholarship,” Alexander explained. He didn’t want to go into specifics.

                “Do you know John Adams? He was my best friend’s cousin. Still is, of course.” Johnny reminisced about when he used to heckle him on an almost-daily bases.

                “Unfortunately, yes. What are you doing these days?”

                Johnny grew slightly uncomfortable. “Work… and stuff. I’m applying to American University for next year.”

                Alexander _knew_ what was up at this point. “You’re a dealer,” He stated plainly. He didn’t want to think about the implications if he had guessed incorrectly. “Why?”

                Johnny looked into Alexander’s eyes, the tension rising in the room. Why did Alex have to open his mouth when they were casually bantering? “What gives you that impression?” he asked.

                Alexander nervously shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was out of line and I…”

                “No,” interrupted Johnny. “I genuinely know what led you to make that deduction.”

                This was an unusual and uncomfortable situation, but Alexander explained nonetheless. “Your eyes are bloodshot, you use a flip phone, you didn’t want to tell me what your _job_ was, and someone beat you up pretty badly recently, but you didn’t go to a doctor’s office.” The details added up.

                To Alex’s surprise, Johnny grinned. “I like you, kid,” he said. “You have some great skills of inference.” Fuck. Alex didn’t know whether he should have been ecstatic or upset that he’d won the affections of the drug dealer.

                “Don’t worry,” He said. “I’m not going to turn you in to the police.”

                “Wasn’t worried, but thanks anyway,” replied Johnny. “Anyway, needed bail money.”

                “…bail money,” repeated Alexander. “Planning on going to jail?”

                Johnny suddenly grew very quiet. “It’s… complicated. Anyway, I should go now. See you later, Alex.”

                “See you later,” said Alexander as he watched Johnny leave the room. He went back into the front room. “Hercules,” he sighed. “It’s been a long day.”

                “You befriended your first drug dealer?” asked Hercules. “I used to do that. Deal drugs, I mean.”

…

                John hung up the phone. It was John Hancock, delivering some, uh, unfortunate news.

‘ _Sam just got arrested?’_ he thought to himself. It wasn’t that much to process: he just got _arrested_ and wasn’t likely to be taken seriously ever again. Probably one of those protests he always set up, and something went wrong, or he was caught.

                Sam used proxies. He was too _smart_ to get caught doing anything like this. So why did he? On purpose? Or had the mastermind finally gotten caught (and presumably bailed out again)?

                He didn’t care. He just _didn’t care_. Knew it was bad, but didn’t care about that, either. In any case, it meant that he was free from the shadow in which he lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm writing a ten minute speech about Alexander Hamilton for district speech and it's gonna be LIT.  
> I don't know if anyone else likes discussion questions but I like discussion questions at the end of short stories and books so:  
> discussion question: is Thom a manic pixie dream boy?


	7. Absolute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> backstories and confessions.  
> Also, the origins of the phrase "Ideal Pursuits".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you

 

“Hey, everyone!” Laurens announced to his small group of friends one day. It was the Monday of finals week, and everyone was trying to be _chill_ before the second final. The first had been the language final, so it hadn’t been too bad for anyone. Currently, everyone (namely Alexander, John, Thom, and James) was waiting for the end of the break and for the English final to begin. Despite the lack of an actual English class, nobody was too worried about that one, either. “Guess what?”

“What?” asked Alexander. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but Laurens was _clearly_ very excited about it. Thom and John appeared to be listening as well, James rummaging in his bag to find a pen.

Laurens grinned. “I got a new job!” he proclaimed, proud of his accomplishment. That didn’t happen often.

Thom stood up and patted John on the back fondly. “Where?” he asked. “You never told any of us.”

“At the Botanical Gardens,” replied Laurens. “I take care of plants and stuff. I quit working at the animal shelter because it was too far away to be convenient.”

Thom smiled, happy for his friend. “You’ve grown into a real mom.”

“Congratulations, other John!” John chimed in. “I’m happy for you. How’s the job itself?”

Laurens shrugged. “I’ve only met a few of my coworkers, but they seem like nice people. And it’s always warm inside the building, so that’s a plus.”

Alexander nodded, and walked over to give Laurens a hug. In a totally platonic way, of course. Laurens hugs were the best.

“It seems like all of your jobs are taking care of things,” he commented.

John sighed. “Would you believe that I got suspended for fighting once?” he asked. “I used to fight a lot, actually.”

Thinking about it for a moment, Alexander shook his head. “No way. Who’d you fight?”

“Me,” answered Thom. “We were suspended together. Pretty sure that John almost broke my arm. He fractured it, at least.” Laurens and Thom then high-fived, a motion which Alex didn’t completely understand, but okay.

“It was, uh, a bad point in my life,” added Laurens. “I was kind of going through some things and just fought people all the time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” chimed in John.

“Eh,” replied Laurens, “not really, but thanks.” Yeah, right. Laurens was _dying_ for attention, but he couldn’t show it. He had an image to uphold, one in which he was always the selfless one.

\---

Out of all the people Lafayette missed, he missed Pierre-Étienne the most. No- he had changed his name. Peter Stephen, _his_ Peter Stephen, the lovely Du Ponceau, and so many other things. His best, oldest friend. Lafayette almost regretted entering the United States when he found out that his Du Ponceau wouldn’t be returning to France. Instead, he was up in Philadelphia, living with an older man and _romanticizing_ American society. That genius, that Peter Stephen, he didn’t know what he was worth to Lafayette. He wasn’t a romantic interest, but he was _so much_ more than a friend. And now he was only two hours away! Two, and Lafayette couldn’t see him. He had to move on, he knew that, but he just couldn’t. With Peter Stephen gone, who was there left? Not him!

He had to move on. To move on, he had to occupy himself with other things. Everything was going on without stop. First, there was school, of course, and then the play, and model UN to prepare for, and his poetry-writing, friends who couldn’t keep their shit together on top of it, but somehow, there was always time left at the end of the day to think about his friend.

They’d known each other for three years, having met one day on the train home.

“ _You’re new_ ,” Lafayette had said. “ _I’ve never seen you on this route before.”_

Peter Stephen, always so thoughtful, looked pensive for a moment before he answered. “ _I’ve never seen you, either.”_

The two hit it off from there, making as close to a perfect duo as could be, Lafayette bold and daring, and Peter Stephen the silent, inquisitive type.

“ _Is it possible to be someone’s soulmate without being in love with them?”_ Peter Stephen asked Lafayette one day.

Lafayette slowly nodded. “ _I think so. Who are you thinking of?”_

Peter Stephen looked deeply into his eyes before answering softly, “ _You.”_ Romance wasn’t quite Lafayette’s style, but he would give in this once. It was a few months after that before Peter Stephen disappeared, only mailing Lafayette a letter of his whereabouts before disappearing. It was stupid. It was so cliché. It was something that only that hopeless romantic would do.

_ My dear Gilbert, _

_I regret to inform you that I am leaving._

_ I never told you where I was from, did I? I don’t know where to start. I didn’t like it here. To me, France is a place of broken opportunity. It is a place in which I can never pursue the ideal, instead being bogged down by actuality. I was designated to be a priest, did you know that? It was something that I’d rather commit suicide than waste my life on. So I left. I found a patron who was willing to take me with him to the United States. I paid him, of course, but in something other than money. Nice gentleman, Mr. Wilhelm von Steuben. The legal work’s been sorted out well. This may be the last you will ever hear of me. I’m off to start a new life in Philadelphia; I hear it’s a nice city. _

_ I love you, Gilbert. Yours was the best friendship I’ve had the fortune of partaking in. You’re the only thing I will miss. I aspire that we’ll meet again someday, but for the present, I leave our relationship here. _

_ DON’T FORGET YOUR IDEAL PURSUITS. _

_ All my love, _

_ PETER STEPHEN DU PONCEAU _

            That was it. The entire letter. Lafayette had read it over and over again, taking in every part of it. Two hundred and six words, one thousand and forty-seven characters including spacing and punctuation. Fifteen lines occupied his mind day and night. There was only one thing that was certain; he  _ had _ to visit Philadelphia.

\---

            “Alex, are you okay?” asked Laurens as he poured Alexander a cup of coffee. They had planned to study after school on Tuesday in Laurens’s apartment with Thom and John. Lafayette was off doing the same with a group of his other friends.

            “Y-yeah,” Alexander said, clearly lying. “I’m fine. When am I not?”

            They were gathered in Laurens’s living room area, which had a murphy bed on one of the walls so it could also function as a bedroom. It was cramped, alright, but it had just enough warmth to qualify it as ‘cozy’. The area also had a door leading to a small kitchen (with an even smaller table), and another to a washroom. The jewel and only  _ real _ furniture of the apartment itself was the table in the middle, which the four were now kneeling at. Cramped, but cozy. At least there was a reliable heating system.

            Thom rolled his eyes, a gesture which greatly annoyed Alex. “You take exams too seriously.”

            In response, he shot a glare right back. “Yeah, says the guy who makes sure to know everything  _ before _ the study session for the sole purpose of looking smart,” he said. Thom huffed, a sign that Alex had struck a chord. He mentally high-fived himself.

            “Uh, so, chemistry!” Laurens offered. He knew that yet another feud had started between his two best friends. “I, for one, am not a fan of stoichiometry.”

            John, being useful for once, flipped open his notebook to examples of the topic. “You switch grams to mols and mols to grams, like so,” he explained.

            “I know,” Laurens sighed. “I already knew. Does anyone have anything they want to study?” There was no response. Another study session wasted. “We already know everything?” he asked.

            Alexander nodded; despite his prior criticism of Thom, he, too, had studied everything beforehand in order to look smart. He didn’t need to study everything he had already worked his ass off studying; he needed time to  _ write _ . He’d only even come to this session because he felt like spending time with Laurens.

            And then there was fucking  _ John _ , who didn’t even need to study to get straight A’s, which pissed the hell everyone off. He preferred not to say anything during study sessions because he was great at  _ understanding _ things, but awful at explaining.

            “Well, then,” Thom said, standing up from the table. “I should probably get going. I’m giving John a ride home.”

            John then stood up as well, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “See you then, other John, Alex.” The two then left, the door clicking shut behind them.

            Laurens sighed. “That was sure abrupt,” he commented. “Off to go make sweet love or something.”

            Alexander nodded, swishing around his still-steaming cup of coffee. It wasn’t often that he had hot drinks, but they were a treat. “It’s almost the new year,” he said. “It’s almost my birthday. Doesn’t feel like it.”

            “When is it?” asked John.

            Alexander’s voice grew quiet. “One-one-one,” he answered. Being with Laurens was the only time when he felt that he could breathe. He hummed, “sixteen.”

            John, who was sitting next to Alexander, leaned back until he was lying on the ground. “Birthdays, they don’t really matter as much as the actual years do.”

            Setting his mug on the table, Alexander lay down on the floor as well next to John. “Wise beyond your years, I see,” he said, looking up at the white ceiling. He felt the calm of the moment radiating from it. “I get it.”

            “That chemistry final will kill me if I don’t kill myself first,” said John.

            “Same,” replied Alex. “I  _ know _ I’m ready for this exam, but somehow, I also think I’m going to fail.”

            “You always say that. Tsk tsk.”

            Alexander pretended to be offended. “ _ Did you just tsk at me, mom?” _

            Laurens chuckled. “As if you’d ever be  _ my _ son.”

            “Ouch.” Alex enjoyed casual banter with Laurens more so than with any other.

            “By the way, Alex,” Laurens suddenly said in another tone. “you never actually did tell me anything about yourself.” Using  _ me _ instead of  _ us _ was a deliberate word choice.

            “What do you mean?” he asked.

            “I dunno, man…” Laurens trailed off. “Where you’re from, what your past is like, just anything before the ‘ _ I used to live in New York’ _ part, really, and even then.”

            “Hey!” retorted Alexander. “In those regards, you’ve never actually told me anything about your past, either,” he stopped for a moment. “Past is a funny word.”

            “Well, then, we both owe each other our tragic anime backstories. Well…

            “My family is pretty wealthy,” started Laurens, already melancholy. “Well, it’s mostly my dad. We’re all from South Carolina. He’s a shareholder or something… I never actually bothered to learn. Anyway, I had a pretty happy childhood, altogether. There wasn’t anything I was missing.” Laurens would have loved to just stop there, to ignore the fact that anything had had to change. He took a deep breath. “And then my mom died from pneumonia. And then everything got bad.”

            “I’m sorry,” whispered Alexander. He knew the feeling too well himself, and wondered if it was sick to feel comfort in knowing that someone else understood the pain that he had endured. He reached out and took Laurens’s hand, a gesture which he didn’t shy away from.

            “I have three siblings,” Laurens continued, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Alexander didn’t look away from the ceiling, but he knew that Laurens was close to breaking into tears. “Martha, Henry, and Ellie-Marie. They’re all younger than me. Ellie-Marie probably doesn’t remember her much, if at all. After she died, my dad wasn’t okay for a long time, either. It was as if he didn’t want to see us,” Laurens paused for a moment to breathe heavily, and put his arm over his eyes. He couldn’t let Alexander see him in this moment of weakness. “So, I kind of became the equivalent of a mom for a while. I did everything I could. Money wasn’t the issue, but for other reasons, I couldn’t… take it… So I just started fighting people all the time. I couldn’t deal with any of it.” Laurens remembered all of it well; the bloody noses, the black eyes, the time he had fractured his wrist. He knew that he’s been lucky to get away with only a single fracture. He was always lucky in fights.

            Laurens breathed heavily. “But, yeah. After a while, things almost got okay again, and then I ruined it. I was kicked out of the family because I’m gay. I should have known not to tell anyone, especially Aaron Burr, but it’s my fault. It’s my fault…” John became quiet, but Alexander could still hear him trying to control his breaths. He began to rub the back of John’s hand with his thumb, which helped him regulate his breathing more almost instantly.

            “I…” Laurens tried to speak, but had to wait another minute before he could do so. The sun outside was beginning to set and reflected off of the grey clouds, casting a dark light over everything through the surprisingly large window. “I still think he’s a good person, though. I honestly do.”

            Alexander spoke at last. “You’re too good, John. I don’t understand you; it’s like there’s not a single hard spot inside you.”

            “That’s the point, Alex. I can’t feel anything anymore. I’m just trying to find a chink in my own armor at this point.”

            Sighing, Alexander said, “I know how you feel, though.”

            “Yeah?” asked Laurens. Despite everything, he actually really wanted to hear Alexander’s backstory.

            “Well, um…” Alexander was unsure where to start with his own narrative. He’d never actually told anyone anything more than the overlying details. “I was born in the West Indies. Charlestown, Nevis.” He uncharacteristically stumbled over his words a bit.

            “My dad was from a rich family, but he was a good-for-nothing in their eyes, so he didn’t inherit anything,” he continued, almost emotionless. Unlike John, he’d learned how to close himself off from his feelings long ago. “And my mom was a whore.” There was a small but audible gasp from Laurens, who was surprised at Alex’s, uh, terminology. He paused for a small moment, but didn’t stop.

            “I suppose it’s not really about me, in the end. Anyway, she was actually married to another guy, but she ran away and met James Hamilton. And then my brother James was born, and then there was me. Alex.”

            Laurens, who had by now stopped crying completely, frowned, although Alexander couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know you had a brother,” he said.

            “We weren’t,  _ aren’t _ , that close,” Alexander answered. “So my parents pretended to be married for a while, and then my dad left us. I don’t remember it that well, but I like to think we were pretty happy. I got schooling, of course, which was fundamental in why I’m here now.

            “And then we got sick. My mother and I. It was a bad bout of fever, and lasted for a few weeks. She… passed away.” Alexander wanted to sound as if he wasn’t a cold, emotionless being, but it was  _ hard _ . He kept going, but it increasingly became more difficult. “I was fine, but James and I were, by all means, penniless to begin with, but now orphaned.” Fuck. Here came the hard part.

            “So we moved in with a cousin, who we didn’t really know. That was a rough few months, but we scraped by,” he explained, his breath now beginning to get shaky. “And then, h-he committed suicide.” Alex tried to think of a way in which this could all fit within his assumed timeline, but he just ended up praying that nothing would conflict; he’d lied about his age to everyone by a year, and couldn’t let it slip now.

            Alexander continued to look towards the window, the opposite direction from Laurens, but the warmth of his hand was comforting. He knew the other boy was looking at him from the back, but he didn’t care. As long as Laurens kept his eyes on Alex, it would be okay.

            “I took up a job, actually. Working part-time and school part-time. I lied about everything to the ladies at the monastery school so they’d let me sit in on lessons. It was rough. And then come other… stuff… happened and now I’m here.”

            Laurens looked at the ceiling again, sitting up and subsequently tipping over Alexander’s still-warm cup of coffee. “You win.” He took a swipe at his face, wiping any remnants of tears left over. “Fuck.”

            “You know,” said Alexander, sitting up as well. Every time he blinked, the sky seemed to be getting darker. “You’re the only person I’ve ever said this to, or probably ever will. I’ve, um, tried to put it behind me.”

            Laurens sighed. He didn’t know how Alex was able to remain emotionless like this, but okay. Okay. “Lafayette has a friend who whored himself out to an older guy to emigrate from France.” He grabbed a towel from the small kitchen and cleaned up his spill. “Doesn’t like to talk about him a lot. Peter Stephen.”

            “I really like you, John,” Alexander said suddenly, looking at Laurens. He didn’t understand the force that compelled him to say this, but it felt  _ so _ good to finally be able to tell him his true feelings.

            Laurens looked back into Alexander’s eyes. “I like you too, Alex,” he said. “It’s why we’re friends.”

\---

            “Yikes,” said John, looking out of a coffee shop window.

            “Yikes?” asked Thom, looking at John instead of the window. After abruptly leaving the study session, they’d decided to stop at Thom’s favorite coffee shop before calling it quits. He was waiting for his cup of chai tea to cool down before he drank it.

            John nodded, looking back at Thom. “Just, yikes. Everything is yikes.”

            “Same.” Thom took a long sip of his tea, which burned his tongue, but whatever. He couldn’t risk looking uncool. “Say, if you could live in any fictional world, which one would it be?”

            “None of them,” John answered. “There’s a reason people don’t write utopian fiction. Nearly any  _ interesting _ place one could go would ultimately be some version of a living hell. If there  _ had _ to be a place to go, I would choose the Erudite faction from Divergent.”

            Thom leaned back on his chair, brushing his hair out of his face. What many didn’t seem to notice about him was his level of flexibility; even as he sat now, his shoulders seemed to align in an unnatural way. To John, however, this only increased his charm. “I didn’t like that book,” he replied.  _ I love you. _

            “Elaborate.”

            Thom didn’t hesitate to answer. He’d clearly pensated on it for some time in the past. “I thought it was too cliché, too much of a  _ Hunger Games _ copy to be as engaging as any original work should be. Also, I don’t understand the entire ‘faction’ system.” Thom drew in the air with his finger as he outlined his points. He always did these little things that John had never really  _ noticed _ before, and it drive him crazy.

            Thom continued. “So if you’re selfless, you go to one faction. If you’re peace-loving, you go to another. If you’re both, you’re suddenly labeled  _ divergent _ or whatever and you’re dangerous AF. Aren’t selfless and peace-loving normally supposed to go hand-in-hand? I don’t like this ideology.” He nodded, as if to affirm his own point.

            “No, but you don’t  _ get it _ ,” replied John. He loved having simple conversations like this, ones that would probably be forgotten by the next day, but were peaceful and enjoyable nonetheless. “The point is that you’re only raised to have one personality trait, that only one thing is important to you. That’s what makes the society corrupt.”

            Frowning, Thom said, “It’s the principle of the thing that ultimately matters the most.” He looked outside of the glass wall again; it was getting dark out, but neither he nor John cared. “I think I’d like to live in…”

            “Don’t say The fucking Republic,” interrupted John. “Or Flatland.”

            “Plato? Abbot? No, that’s too, I don’t know,” Thom searched for the right word, “vanilla,” he finished. “The Utopia sounds about right. Morris.”

            “So what you’re saying is that pure socialism is the best way to live?” John raised an eyebrow.

            Thom nodded, to which John replied, “You’re like, a member of the five percent, if not the one percent, and you’re dissing a system which put a silver spoon in your mouth for your entire life?”

            “Not exactly  _ dissing _ it, per say, but I don’t think capitalism is the way to go. It’s imperative for the government to stand for the little guy, rather than corporations.” Thom took another long sip of his tea, half-draining it. “It seems like we talk about capitalism a lot.”

            “I, for one, think that capitalism is the best way to ensure a stable government. Or, as stable as it gets,” promptly retorted John. “I’m actually not really in the mood to debate capitalism’s justices and injustices.” Thom leaned back on his elbows at their small table.

            “You’re so discursive,” he said, pausing for a moment. “You know, discursive is actually an interesting word. Comes from the Latin  _ currere _ , meaning-”

            “To run,” finished John. “You use the word ‘discourse’ but I’m not sure you know what it means.”

            “Enlighten me, then.”

            John sighed. “Discord is the word for general argument, but discourse usually only applies to written arguments and or debates.”

            “You’re so smart.” Thom grinned that  _ stupid _ grin that drove John crazy.

            “Ugh,” John paused to drink the last of his coffee. “Shut up. Let’s go.”

            The two then exited the cozy warmth of the coffee shop, entering the realm of the cold. It had snowed a few inches on the ground the night before, but the roads had thankfully been cleared. John liked the snow- he liked the way it floated through the air, the way it neatly covered all of the rooftops. He liked the way the water from the melting snow ran into the drains when spring came. He liked the way it let him romanticize everything.

            Thom didn’t. He hated the cold; to him, it was a symbol of good times past, how summer was over and summer was gone. Winter forced him to see the same world of white everyone else was seeing, to feel a  _ connection _ to other people. He hated it, hated it so much! He only liked seeing what the winter did to John. “Hold my hand,” he said, extending his arm to John.

            Surprisingly, John took it. “You’re so warm,” he said. “I love you.”

            “I, uh, I love you too, John.” There. He said it. He set a precedent for himself, which would then be followed up. This time, it was true.

            “What?” asked John. Had he heard his boyfriend correctly?

            “Did I fucking stutter?” retorted Thom. “I love you.”

            John breathed heavily. “You’ve never said that before. Only, ‘I don’t like you’.”

            There it was. Another breathtaking grin. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, John,” he said. “I love you.”

            There weren’t many more words exchanged between the two that day; there was only a passionate kiss outside of John’s house when Thom dropped him off.

            “Well, good luck on your finals,” Thom waved goodbye as he left.

            “Yeah,” breathed John. “You too.” He still couldn’t  _ believe _ what had happened.

\---

“So, Sam’s been bailed out of jail?” John asked openly at the family dinner. The Adams family tended to be a _traditional_ one, and always did all the traditional family things. After seeing what effects bad familial relations could have on others, he was thankful.

“Well,” answered Susanna, his mother. “we don’t really know _who_ bailed him out, or under what circumstances, but it’s rather fishy at the moment.”

“Probably John,” said John, who was met with nods around the table. He took a long drink of water. Truth be told (and he knew it was awful), he didn’t actually care about whether his _dear_ cousin was bailed out of jail or not. He didn’t _care_ about the person whom he’d lived his entire life in the footsteps of.

At this, John’s father, John Sr. became irate. “That damn liberal doesn’t deserve to be out of jail,” he stated. Yikes. This was going to get bad, and _fast_.

John didn’t want to be in this situation. He wasn’t mentally prepared for a political discussion- over dinner, nonetheless!  He wanted to just get out of the situation, and began defining terms in his head.

_ Fast- characterized by quick motion. Synonyms- speedy, quick _ .

_ Jail- confinement for people accused or convicted or a crime. _

_ Bail- _ Shit. He couldn’t think of the proper words to define it. He would just have to deal with it.

“He’s your nephew, John,” said Susanna to John, Sr. “Can we not talk about this here?”

John, Sr. scoffed. “Whatever. Anyone has anything else that’s important?” The entire time, Peter and Elihu, John’s younger brothers, kept their mouths shut. Good. They learned early.

Oh no. Peter was opening his mouth, _stop him from saying something stupid, John, just­-_ It’s too late for that, now. Peter was thirteen.

“John has a boyfriend,” said Peter. Definitions again.

_ John _ \- fuck, that’s  _ me _ . Wait.

“ _What?_ ” blurted out John loudly. “That’s untrue. You’re making stuff up.”

“What?” asked Susanna and John, Sr. simultaneously. “John?”

“Uh,” John started. “There’s nothing to say. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I saw you kiss him earlier today,” Peter pointed out. God, Peter was _so_ going to have to face John’s passive anger later. This was bad.

“John,” said John, Sr. again with a tone of suspicion in his voice. “Is there something you have to tell us that’s important?”

“Can we, uh, _not_ do this now?” John asked awkwardly. There was a pregnant pause as he formulated his next sentence. “There are more important things to focus on.” Nobody noticed Elihu, nine years old, silently leave the room.

“So you _do_ have a boyfriend,” concluded Susanna, setting her fork down. “Because you know, that’s okay with us.” This was too surreal to be happening.

“I wasn’t actually waiting for your approval, but thanks?” John breathed a sigh of relief that this horribly uncomfortable conversation was finally over, or so he thought.

            It was John, Sr. who was  _ actually _ quite upset. He muttered angrily to himself, “ _ I can’t believe I raised my  _ own _ son to be one of  _ them.”

            Peter coughed, shameful for the situation he’d created. “I’m gonna, uh, leave.”  _ Thanks, Peter _ .  _ Leave me here to die _ .

            “One of  _ them _ ?” repeated John. “What the…  _ heck _ are you saying.”

            “You’re too young for this sort of stuff, John,” Susanna said softly. Truth be told, John didn’t quite understand why, exactly, his parents were together. They were too… different. “Is it someone we know?”

            “Eh…” John stumbled across his words. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Okay, okay, whenever you’re-”

            However, John, Sr. still wasn’t okay. “We’ll talk later,” he said before leaving the dinner table. Fuck.

\---

It was _finally_ the last day of the dragging hell week, and the last final had just been completed. Alex thanked god that it was over. “Man,” he sighed, “that chem final wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.”

“How long did you study?” asked Laurens, jamming his hands into the tiny pockets of his skinny jeans for warmth. They weren’t dress code appropriate, but he didn’t care. Not on the last day of finals week. “I thought it was pretty difficult.”

“Six hours,” replied Alex. “Not _that_ long.”

_“What the fuck,”_ whispered Laurens. “That’s what I would qualify as _really,_ if not _too_ long.” He then caught sight of Thom out of the corner of his eye, exiting the exam room.

“John,” he said, noting the almost uncomfortably small amount of space between Alexander and Laurens. “That exam was eh.”

“Hi, Jerkferson,” greeted Alexander. “French and US finals are up.”

“I know, I scored A’s on both of them,” Thom said nonchalantly, waving his hand around. “And you?”

“Same,” replied Alexander. Okay, he was getting very annoyed at how stuck up Thom was that he earned excellent grades. It wasn’t _that_ hard. “Four-point-o GPA here I come.”

“I have a four point one.”

‘ _Fuck this guy_ ,’ thought Alexander. “I’ll get a four point three.”

“Hey, hey,” interrupted Laurens, grabbing the shoulders of both Thom and Alex. “Can we calm down? You guys fight too much.”

Alexander huffed. He, _Alexander Hamilton_ , was being the argumentative one? “I’ll kick everyone’s ass, including my own. Don’t fucking tempt me, Laurens.”

Then, that stupid, perfect grin showed up again on Thomas Jefferson’s stupid, perfect face. “I think that position’s been reserved for me,” he said in his stupid, perfect voice. “Anyway, Alexander, I’m giving you a ride home after that model UN meeting today.”

“You are?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” And that was that. A _re we doing this or what?_ “This week has been rough and I’m glad it’s over.”

“Try working shifts while studying for finals,” Laurens chimed in. “Why we have a model UN meeting _right_ before school ends for the year? Are they allowed to do that? I don’t think they’re allowed to do that?”

“Yeah, but who gives a single fuck about model UN complying with _rules_?” retorted Thom. He had a point. “Let’s just go now rather than endure the wrath of Angelica for being late.”

Alexander pointed out, “The exam hasn’t even officially ended yet. We just finished half an hour early.”

However, Laurens agreed with Thom. “Angelica will literally walk over your back in stilettos if you’re late.”

“ _I wish she would walk over my back in stilettos_ ,” mumbled Thom unintentionally loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Someone’s still got the hots for someone who rejected them over a year ago?” Alexander teased. “Pathetic.” He briefly made eye contact with his nemesis/boyfriend, who merely looked to Laurens and then back to him.

            ‘Pathetic’, he mouthed, in reference to how he hadn’t done anything yet about his not-so-clandestine Laurens crush. However, Alexander wouldn’t admit to a soul how much he wanted that mouth on his own at the moment.

            When they finally made it to the room, John was already there. He said nothing when he saw his associates enter the room. He was lying on two desks which he’d pushed together. Angelica nor Washington appeared to be nearby.

            Laurens leaned against the book case in the corner of the room, flipping the lights on. “Am I only the one who thought the exam was hard?” he asked. No response. “Oh well…” Alexander sighed with him.

            “So, uh, do you know when Angelica’s going to get here?” he asked.

            A voice came from the door, which the four turned around to look at. George Washington stood there, absentmindedly reaching for the light switch. “She’ll be here soon. Is this everyone that’s coming to the meeting?”

            “Lafayette and James should be here. The exam ends in five minutes, so maybe they’re still finishing,” replied Thom.

            ‘ _ Isn’t Washington supposed to be the president of model UN?’  _ thought Alex.

            “So,” he started, his voice slightly irked as if he could read Alex’s thoughts. “This is our last meeting of the year, and the next conference  _ will _ be the last ever.” This resulted in a chorus of  _ what _ from the other four, to which he grimly nodded. “Since recently there’s been some controversy surrounding me, this club is going to be shut down. I  _ strongly _ disagree with the sentiment that model UN should permanently stop just because the rest of the student council doesn’t like me, but it’s either this or start  _ another _ controversy and prove myself to be the better one.”

            John finally spoke, in order to protest. “As future president of this club, I advise you to do something suspension-worthy and work it out in school court.”

            Washington shook his head. “No  _ way _ . That’s ridiculous.”

            “School court?” asked Alexander. “What’s that?”

            Thom tried to explain, doing his typical  _ wave hand around _ gesture while he was speaking. This was taking too long. Alexander wanted those hands  _ now _ , but he’d have to wait.

            “It’s like, when someone does something suspension-worthy or worse and another student or faculty member is involved, so we pretend to be lawyers to work it out.” He paused to dramatically brush his gorgeous auburn hair out of his freckled face. “It’s kind of ridiculous, which is why it’s only happened like, three times in the past. Hey, but,” Thom said as he walked over to John. “this guy knows more about legal counsel than any other student at this institution, so it’s not too shoddy of an idea.” John reached up to lightly swat his face from the desk he was still lying on, but only brushed his chin.

            George gave a small bark of a chuckle in response to the unrealistic-ness of the plan. ‘ _ Underclassmen’ _ , he thought.

            Laurens changed the subject. “Anyway, how haven’t you gotten kicked off of the student council yet, George?” He was probably the only one who called Washington by his first name.

            “I don’t know,” Washington admitted. It wasn’t often that he admitted to any sort of weakness. “I’m so unpopular by this point that people have actually started leaving.”

            “Well,” Laurens shrugged, “what’s one going to do?” He spotted Angelica arrive through the door, chatting with Lafayette and James.

            “Hi, everyone, settle down. We have work to do,” she announced as everyone finally sat down at desks. Angelica was a  _ professional _ \- she used the podium at the front of the room and everything. “I’m sure you already know that this is our last year as a club, but for now, we have another conference to prepare for. The one at American University.

            “Also, we have a new member, because we had an uneven number of people. And  _ then _ , after we registered, they told us that we had some single-person delegations. So, James Madison, but I’m sure you already know him.” Angelica paused to smile at James, who nodded in return. “Anyway,” she continued, “country assignments for the conference at the end of January!”

            Alexander prayed that he and Thom weren’t to be partners again. They’d told Angelica and Washington that they  _ didn’t _ , under  _ no _ circumstances, want to be partnered again, but this was the importance of who actually put together partnerships. Washington would have complied, because the constant bickering of the two wasn’t worth putting up with. Angelica, on the other hand,  _ lived _ for this sort of-

            “Alex and James, you’re representing Japan on the Future Security Council,” she read out. Alexander breathed a sigh of relief; James, he could  _ stand _ . Making eye contact with James, he nodded. He mentally felt Thom’s sigh of relief in addition to his own.

            “Thom, you’re France on the FSC as well. John Laurens, you’re going to be Texas in the Congress simulation, and Lafayette is Colorado.” At this, Alexander let out a loud ‘ _ ha!’  _ and immediately felt bad about it.

            “John Adams, you’re Jordan on the regular Security council,” continued Angelica, ignoring Alex. “Washington and I are the  _ United States _ for the World Health Organization. Your topics are on the handout which you’re about to get.” Angelica then handed a small stack of papers to Washington, which he then passed around the room.

“Wait, I’m  _ Texas _ ?” asked Laurens, slightly taken aback. “How’s that work?”

            Lafayette sighed. “I’m not sure I even know where Colorado  _ is _ .”

            “Well...” Angelica thought. “They try to make it fun instead of everyone being on the security council. Good fucking luck.” She grabbed her backpack and left the room, saying, “That’s all I have to say. Good luck and dismissed.”

_             What the fuck _ ,” whispered Laurens, looking over his topics. “Gun control? Marijuana legalization? How…? Texas…”

            “Hey,” replied Lafayette. “Let’s fight, my dear Laurens.”

            Highly juxtaposed to John, Thom appeared to be  _ very _ happy about his assignment. ‘ _ Francophile _ ,’ thought Alexander.

            “I am going to be  _ very _ prepared for this conference,” he said, casually speaking in a more formal manner because Washington was in the room. Everyone could tell that what he  _ really _ meant to say was, “ _ I’m going to kick ass so hard _ .”

            Alexander mouthed ‘I’m going to kick your ass,’ at Thom in response to this, to which he promptly received a ‘we’re allies, dumbass’. Right. This whole  _ allies _ thing was probably not going to work out great. Alex went over to James, and began to negotiate who would do what. James, however, already had a plan worked out. Good ol’ James always got to the point.

            “So,” he said quietly but firmly. “Our topics are Mars colonization, the water crisis, legal autonomous weapons systems, and the future of terrorism. I was thinking that we’d split up the topics like that and then confer once the break is over.”

            “I’ll take water and Mars,” replied Alexander, glad that James saw it his way. “Unless you want to take those?”

            “No,” James agreed, filing away his page of notes. “That sounds like the best plan. Well, see you in a couple of weeks,” he said, leaving the room as well.

            Washington finally spoke again. “You’re all required to leave the room before I lock up,” he prompted everyone else to leave the room. “Also, Thom, Alex, I’d like you to speak with me. Alone.” At this, both Johns and Lafayette promptly left, leaving the two there. Alex didn’t know what this was about, but he was getting slightly anxious about it.

“I want you two to join the student council,” said Washington at last. Alexander was simultaneously relieved and ecstatic at this. “Because,” he continued, “two people left and I think you’re good candidates for the spot.”

Alex answered, “Yes.” without a moment of hesitation, but Thom appeared to give it a bit of thought. Okay, a _lot_ of thought.

“Why us?” he asked again, probing for more detail. He _knew_ why.

“Because you’re both notably diligent students and I feel as if you could help the effort greatly,” answered Washington. “Our other members are Henry Knox, Edmund Randolph, Martha Custis, Dolley Payne, and some other people.”

Thom perked up at the mention of Dolley Payne. “I’ll think about it,” he finally concluded.

Washington nodded, satisfied. “Our first meeting is the Wednesday after the break ends. Think about it.”

“Thanks!” called back Alex as he and Thom went into the hallway. There, they saw the whole squad standing in a circle and chatting. Lafayette went over to them.

            “So, we should probably get going,” Thom said to both Johns as he gestured at the stairs. “See you all soon, hopefully. Hey, we should have a Christmas party. Or something.”

            “Yeah!” agreed Laurens. “That sounds fun. I’ll text you.”

            “Goodbye, both Johns,” replied Lafayette, ecstatic about the prospect of two weeks without school, and more importantly, two weeks in which he didn’t have to face George Frederick every day.

            “See you later,” replied John, walking the other way. He appeared as if he was suddenly upset about something, but that was him most of the time anyway, so nobody paid it much mind. Alex, Thom, and Lafayette then left the school, and began to drive to Thom’s home. Alexander sat in the back of the car, of course, because shotgun was always reserved for Lafayette.

            Lafayette didn’t question why Alexander was coming with them; he just understood. He didn’t say anything. Of course he wouldn’t, right?

\---

Alexander was exhausted. He was sitting on a stool on Thom’s kitchen counter, as Thom was making a fucking smoothie for both of them. The second they had walked in the house, Lafayette had mysteriously disappeared- probably to a better place.

“Why the fuck am I here?” asked Alexander. “Why the _fuck_ am I here?”

Thom briefly looked up before going back to finely chopping ginger. “What do you mean? I just wanted to spend time with you.” Ha! What a joke. “Also, I wanted an excuse to make a smoothie.”

“I thought you were going to fuck me already,” Alex accused. He didn’t have a hint of shame in his voice.

“Uh, well,” Thom pretended to be _really_ engrossed in putting his blender together. Why was he so awkward about things like this? “Yeah, that too, actually, but I was kind of concerned. About you.”

“About _me_?” he demanded.

“Oh, hey, look at that, time to blend the ingredients,” mumbled Jerkferson as he turned on the blender. The sound was enough to block out Alexander’s voice for a good two minutes. When he was done, he poured the final result into two glasses and handed one to Alex. “ _Lafayette_!” he called. “ _I just made a smoothie, do you want some?_ ” There was no response.

“Yeah, so,” he started again. God, he was so stupid and perfect with his freckles and blush and well-fitted clothes and… “I don’t want to permanently fuck you up. No way, I’m not going to be responsible for that.”

“But you’re not?” asked Alexander. “I’ve thought about it a lot, okay? I know what I want, and at least, _I’m_ not the one you’re fucking up. Hey, also a side note, this smoothie is actually good.”

“What are you saying?”

Alexander sighed, having to spell out everything himself. “You’re cheating on your boyfriend. With me. That’s the problem.”

“ _But he’s not my boyfr-”_ Thom protested, although he himself didn’t believe it. Excuses, excuses.

Rolling his eyes, Alexander managed to pull a dramatic hair flip. “Yeah, right. Anyway, I just want you to know that you’re going to have to tell him _someday_. I bet you’re already in _love_ with him.” That came out as unexpectedly cruel, but it got the point across well enough. The lack of a comeback said everything. “I’m right? That’s… that’s even worse.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to come over just so you could roast the fuck out of me.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked Thom up and down. “So why did you?”

“Hm.” A smirk appeared on Thom’s face. That terrible, gorgeous smirk. “So I could do this.” He swiftly wrapped his arms around Alexander’s waist and leaned his forehead against Alexander’s. “You’re so…”

“Wonderful?” Alexander offered, whispering softly. “Mesmerizing?”

“Eh,” replied Thom. “something like that, probably. Anyway…” He slowly but steadily brought his lips to Alex’s and kissed him as gently as he knew how to. And then again, and again.

When the two finally broke apart, he was breathless. “I… like times like this because you shut up,” he said.

“Fuck you,” mumbled Alexander as he closed the distance again. This time, however, he was more aggressive in his actions. Something to let the other boy know how _badly_ he wanted this.

“Not now. Not today,” he moaned into Alex’s mouth. “Not… not with you.” Of course he would, that fucking scamp.

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the original author's note on this said "I relate a lot to John except that I'm not in love with a guy i met at speech" and now I know what rejection feels like and I identify with John including that i have been rejected by the guy from speech


	8. Gilded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette is an enabler and Laurens decides to move on.  
> This exchange year was supposed to be a good experience; behind the layer of excitement, everything is just detrimental.

 

                “So,” said Sam. “I hear you have a boyfriend, John?” the two were in the parlor room of John’s old-fashioned house, away from sight and ear of any other being. Thankfully, John’s parents and brothers were away attending some sort of function- the piano recital, that’s what it was. John didn’t go because he “was feeling ill”, but in all actuality just didn’t _want_ to go. That was okay, right? Missing one out of many, many piano recitals?

                John shrugged. He was leaning back in an armchair, a glass of lemon water at the small table next to him. It had been a week since his cousin, okay, _second_ cousin, had been bailed out of prison. Didn’t he have more important things to do than this, like, reconcile with his _gang_ or whatever it was? “Don’t you have better things to do or talk about than this?”

                Sam shook his head. “No. Business…” he thought a moment. “Business can wait. Spill the details.” He was sprawled out on a loveseat underneath a mountain of blankets.

                “Not unless you tell me about what the _fuck_ you did to go to jail. Given, it was only a couple of nights, but still.”

                John hated himself for it. He _knew_ he was an emotional wreck, a monster without any human feeling left. Was it actually that bad that he just didn’t care about his cousin? Or rather, that he’d grown to stop caring?

                “Well, you know what I do, right?” asked Sam. John nodded; he wrote letters, did some freelance journalism (all under a pseudonym, of course), and protested to legislature. It was all part of the game. An excellent student, he’d gotten into fucking Harvard, and then taken a gap year when it all happened.

                “Well, I was the organizer for a protest for public safety. It got really bad really fast, so much for public safety,” Sam scoffed. “When they started pepper-spraying people it all went downhill from there. Water cannons, you name it.” Sam didn’t really want to remember it, so he played it off as much as he could. “And then they arrested me. It was bad, John. I remember fearing for my life. I’m the policy-brains, not the one who’s cut out to live in prison.

 “So then,” he continued, “John, not you, but the other John,” he lowered his voice substantially, “bailed me out of jail using the money that he’d racked up from selling drugs, and now he sells drugs again. That’s what friends are for. Damon and Pythias, you know? Anyway, I figure that if Harvard doesn’t find out, then I’m good. My name didn’t make it to the news reports. I’m lucky as a duck.”

                John raised an eyebrow. “Then what the fuck are you doing in Annapolis? You live in Baltimore.”

                “You’ve been swearing a lot lately,” Sam pointed out. “Anyway, I’ve been hanging out here because my parents are going to _kill_ me when I get home.” Sam didn’t see his parents much. He’d lived with the _other_ Adamses, John’s family, for two years when he was in high school; switching high schools halfway through didn’t tend to look good on a transcript.

                “You gotta keep your mouth shut…” started John, letting his older cousin finish the sentence.

                Sam took a deep breath. “Before you get yourself killed. I always used to say that to you. Isn’t it hypocritical?”

                “I’d say,” answered John. In truth, he was even _relieved_ that his immaculate cousin’s reputation had been publicly tarnished, if not publicly, then at least within the small community of people he surrounded himself with. He didn’t have anything to live up to anymore.

                “So, what’s up?” asked Sam. “I haven’t seen you in months, and you never reply to any of my texts…”

                “Yeah,” admitted John. “Sorry about that. I’m just not… good… at talking to people. Nothing’s really new. Everything’s same old, same old.”

                “That’s bullshit,” stated Sam. “You’re living the dream, brother. I hear you’ve been winning mock trial cases left and right, debate, you have a _boyfriend_ who you won’t tell me about.”

                John sighed. “Yeah, so, nothing new, same old, not a big deal. Same stuff you did when you were in high school.” He didn’t like talking about himself. It only made him feel as if he was trying to convince others that he was _worth_ it.

                “At least tell me about your boyfriend, okay? You always hold your feelings in,” Sam frowned. “You’re going to get fucked over really badly at some point. Maybe soon. Maybe not.”

                “He’s not my _boyfriend_ , first of all, and it’s not _that_ important.” God, if John could just shut this miscreant out of his life altogether, it would be-

                “Literally?” said Sam, this time actually picking up steam. Oh, shit. “I tell you fucking _everything_ , because you want to know, and sometimes I really don’t want to remember it because it was bad for me, but I think the relationship we have is really important so I talk to you about it anyway, and then you never tell me anything about yourself, and you know what? I’m the older one here.” He stopped a moment to breathe, in which John couldn’t even open his mouth to respond. “So you should be able to trust me with shit like this, because I’ve known you for your _entire_ life, and you won’t tell me this _one_ fucking thing, and I just…”

                “Okay, I’ll tell you,” interrupted John. He mostly wanted Sam to shut up. “A lot has fucking happened since the last time I actually talked to you. First of all, there’s this new guy at school who I’m friends with. Alexander Hamilton.”

                “Alexander Hamilton,” repeated Sam. “I’ve heard of this kid. I’ve heard that name before.”          

                “Where?” asked John, staring at the ceiling. He took a long drink of his lemon water.

                “It’s, uh,” Sam paused. “ _Un peu compliqué.”_

                “So he arrived, and then the shitstorm started.”

                “Explain.”

                John gestured at the empty space ahead of him, trying to make sense of his pwn memories. None of them fit together to create the picture that he needed. He was a debater, a future lawyer, and an _intellectual_ , damn it! None of these feelings or thoughts or patterns made sense. A definition was crucial to putting thoughts into words, but there came none. For once, John could live without a definition.

                Well, there’s Mars, and here I stand as the Sun, explaining the existence of the other planets. _I’m_ the most important character of this story, I’m the one who gives life to all the other events, the steam I let off is the heat that everyone else gets. Okay.

                “Thomas Jefferson,” said Sam suddenly.

                John looked away towards the window, looking at the snow fall. It hadn’t been falling when he came in the room. “What?” he asked.

                “You know what I mean,” Sam replied, a smug edge coming into his voice. He knew he was right, and it bothered him too much to bear. “Tell me.”

                “I like him,” John admitted. “A lot. And it’s good, because he likes me, too.”

                Sam rolled his eyes. “He’s the one that’s going to fuck you over, I’m calling it,” he said. It was the end of that topic. There was nothing more to be said. “Tell me about some of the assholes you’ve encountered during debate.”

                Understandably, John was a bit upset about his cousin’s vision, but what was one to do? He knew it, and he accepted it. There was nothing more to be said. “ _Oh, you’re not going to_ believe _the ‘Modern Whig’ guy_ ,” he started, about to go off on one of his famous rants. He didn’t really get to do this anymore, but when the opportunity came up, he was excited.

\---

                Winter break wasn’t exactly a time of solace and peace for Alexander. It was more of a _get work done_ sort of ordeal. Finally, he had more time to get his writing portfolio underway, and finally he could just spend his days at the library without worry. Often, John Laurens joined him, and they were alone together in silence. It was actually rather a nice feeling; neither had to make their presence heard. Merely feeling it was enough.

                And maybe, just maybe, Laurens’s _presence_ wasn’t the only thing Alex was feeling. It had been there all along, but suddenly Alex felt himself ensnared in it- his almost pathetic crush on Laurens, that is. He’d thought they were just platonic friends, that it would always be that way. After all, wasn’t it normal for someone to want to kiss someone who was just a friend? Alex was certain that this was a completely normal thing to feel, until it started dominating his thoughts and feelings.

                Every time Laurens spoke, Alexander always whispered in his mind, ‘ _I love you_ ’, always fearing the risk of accidentally saying it out loud. It was too much of a statement for something that ultimately chalked up to be a petty teenage crush, but Alex _felt_ it so deeply. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone in two years, since Kitty Livingston walked in and out of his life, and it felt _good_.  He’d superficially _wanted_ people, as demonstrated through his relationship with Thom, but that was a different feeling altogether; whenever Alex did anything with him, it was the rush of the moment that made him feel good. Now, it was a reliable sort of pining that he knew would last.

                Alex loved pens. They were what gave him soul, the medium through which he could pour out his heart. Sometimes, when Laurens picked up one of his pens and absentmindedly twiddled with it in his hands, it was almost as good as if he were embracing Alexander himself. He knew that it was ridiculous, that- no. He couldn’t distract himself like this now, there was _work_ to do, but…

                Laurens set the pen down. Time to focus.

                “Jack,” said Alexander quietly, his voice smooth and low. “What are you doing?”

                Laurens frowned. ”I’m writing an angry letter to the newspaper.” When he wasn’t working, he spent his time trying to _change_ things, to influence other people. “What are you doing?”

                “I’m trying to write this paper about censorship laws, but I’m not really getting anywhere.” He sighed, leaning back on his rolling chair. Alex didn’t really _want_ to be writing about censorship laws, but it was a necessary evil. He thought that entering writing contests was a bit like selling out, but in any case, he needed the money.

                “I think I need a break,” agreed Laurens. Not that he actually needed one, of course. He wanted to talk to Alex more than anything. “Wanna take a walk? The weather’s pretty nice today. Fifty degrees.”

                “Sure,” replied Alex, already beginning to put his notebooks and articles and pens away in his bag. He noticed one of his pens clipped onto Laurens’s shirt, but he let him have it because it wasn’t an absentminded decision on Laurens’s part. He knew the pen was Alex’s. It was a cheap ballpoint pen that he’d on the ground one day, so it wasn’t like the pen itself was _that_ important compared to Laurens’s act of claiming it.

                Laurens was an extremely observant person, meticulous in almost everything he did. What other people noticed, he just inherently _knew_. And he knew, alright, that in claiming this pen, this unimportant pen, it was almost as if he was claiming a piece of Alex himself.

                Despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve tomorrow, it was a nice day outside. The snow had melted, and the ground was covered in the melt, but other than that, it was nice. Forty-five degrees outside, and it couldn’t be better. Of course, Laurens was cold, but Alex distracted him from his discomfort.

                Walking outside of the library, Laurens commented, “You’ve never actually told me where you live, you know.”

                Alexander zipped up his jacket and answered, “I live in, um, a children’s home. Mulligan Children’s Home.” He was slightly embarrassed of this fact.

                “Oh,” Laurens replied. “ _That’s_ how you know Charles. I’ve actually been wondering for a while, now.”

                “Yeah, he’s my roommate.” Alex paused to retie his shoe. “You went to school with him, right?”

                Noting that Alex was an extremely fast shoe-tier, he nodded. “We were always in the same class,” he explained. “Always got the best grades in science, not so much in English. Best art projects.”

                There was a lull in the conversation, which Alexander filled. “Wait…” he said, peering into the distance. “Is that…?” It was. “Let’s leave.”

                “Wait, what?” Laurens looked in that direction as well, quickly seeing what Alex had pointed out. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” Too late.

                “John!” called a voice from the distance. It drew closer, and Laurens quickly froze up. He wasn’t ready for this confrontation, and didn’t think he would ever be. Not here. Not now.

                How the fuck did Aaron Burr know he would be here? And more importantly, _why_ was he here? Fuck. Laurens and Alex both waited for him to come to them, instead of making any effort to move. In about a minute, Aaron stood in front of them.

                “A-Alex,” he said, not expecting him to be there. “Can I talk to John alone for a moment?” he asked. Well, this was awkward. Alex nodded, leaving the two to their business. God, he hoped that Laurens would be okay. He walked to and sat at a nearby bench alone for about five minutes. He was out of eyeshot, but was close enough that he could hear some bits of the conversation. It was a quiet one, and lasted for longer than anyone expected it to. When it was over, Laurens walked around to the and sat next to Alex. _Let’s go_ , he gestured to the road in front of them. Probably because he wanted to get out of the area for a while at this point.

                “What happened?” asked Alex as the two crossed the road, looking left and right and left again.

                They were now walking on an uneven sidewalk along some quaint houses, some run-down and some in good repair. Oh, here’s a bridge overlooking a small stream. Some of the cracks in the pavement have moss growing in between them. The water has a thin film of ice over it. Wait. No. Focus on the present.

                Laurens took a deep breath. The conversation was short, but it meant more to him than anything. “He said sorry,” he exhaled.

                “What?”

                “Yeah,” he reiterated. “That was it. He said he was sorry, and then some other stuff happened.”

                “Other stuff,” Alex repeated, unsure what to think.

                “You know,” started Laurens, turning a corner. “I never actually thought he was that bad of a guy. He said he was sorry for betraying my trust, and that he was too afraid to confess to his actions.”

                “As if that makes it better!” Alex interjected.

                Laurens sighed. At least he felt better about it now. “He’s still not someone I would consider a friend, but not an enemy anymore. Said he thinks we’re good for each other.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “I’m glad that we’re friends.” Laurens smiled, something he hadn’t done both internally and externally in a long time. Moving on was difficult, but he’d gotten a good start. However, everything here was liquid. This apology was liquid, his friendships were liquid, his work was liquid. What Laurens now _needed_ , he decided, was something, somehow, that wouldn’t change. Something that nobody could take away from him.

\---

                “Lafayette, what do you want to do tomorrow?” asked Thom. Sometimes he resented that Lafayette was so much more _well-liked_ than he was, but what was one to do? He hated breaks, especially this one. There was nothing to do, and nothing going on. Lafayette had been hanging with Alex and Laurens guy a lot lately, and Thom didn’t like it. He felt left out. Of course, he was invited and _could_ have gone, but it would have felt like intrusion. He hadn’t had the time to _properly_ spend time with Lafayette in around four days, and had finally forced him to come grocery shopping with him.

                “Eh,” replied Lafayette. “Wait, don’t you remember? Your relatives are coming over tomorrow?”

                Thom nodded grimly. “Oh, yeah, we’re supposed to be getting groceries for this very purpose.” Thom’s _relatives_ didn’t possess much substance in his life. After all, it was just his mother’s sister and her family of four. At least, if anything, it would be distracting.

“Anyway,” Lafayette continued, “We should go to Baltimore sometime when we have the time. It’s not more than an hour away. I actually have already talked to Jane about it. She said this weekend would be good.”

                “Yeah!” agreed Thom. Baltimore would be, uh, exciting, at least. “Wait, why wasn’t I there to discuss this? I’m almost offended.”

                “You _were_ there,” Lafayette pointed out. Not this again. “You either weren’t listening or didn’t care enough to remember. This was like three days ago.”

                “Or I’ve just gotten _really good_ at hiding whenever I’m intoxicated beyond belief,” Thom sighed, walking into the aisle designated specifically for types of jam.

                At this, Lafayette grew serious. “Were you seriously punched drunk that entire time?” he asked with a nervous tinge in his voice.

                _Fuck fuck fuck._ Thom didn’t answer, which told all. Lafayette then promptly lost his shit. “Listen,” he said, not sure whether to be upset or concerned at this point. “I’m going to slap you in the face when we get home and you’re going to _like it_ because you’re disappointed in yourself and I’m disappointed in you.” Thom wasn’t entirely sure how this worked but it was a scare tactic, and it was scary, alright.

                “Okay,” Thom agreed, turning away and pretending to inspect a jar of orange marmalade. “I accept this.”

                “…Right. It wasn’t a question of, euh, whether you accept it or not, but okay.” Lafayette kept walking, leaving Thom to run to catch up with him. “Anyway, in case you don’t remember any of that conversation at all, your mom also told me that you have a sister.”

                Thom, slightly out of breath from taking such long strides, was slightly out of breath. “What?” he said. “My sister?”

                “Yeah,” replied Lafayette, taking the moment to glare at Thom. “Let’s leave.”

                Thom stopped in his tracks. “I agree,” he said, the two swiftly leaving the place. They probably needed to talk about… stuff. Thom drove them to the parking lot of an abandoned bank, where they wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard. He parked in a location where the waning gibbous moon would illuminate the surroundings.

                ‘ _I thought this fucking exchange year would be fun,’_ thought Lafayette as he slapped Thom across the face. It was kind of impressive, as he had to reach into the driver’s seat and _then_ be able to make his hand move with enough velocity that it left a red mark.

                “What the fuck was that for?” exclaimed Thom, rubbing the side of his face that had received the bludgeon. “I didn’t know you were going to do it _that_ hard.”

                At this, Lafayette stuck his nose in the air, fucking snob. “Expect the unexpected. You have a sister,” he stated plainly. “You’ve _never_ mentioned her.”

                Thom was rubbing his face, which still stung. “Y-yeah. Bet. She doesn’t… she doesn’t live with us.”

                Lafayette glared at him again. “And you never told me? I wouldn’t be that upset, except that I’m living with you for the next one and a half years.”

                “Lafayette, I love you, but you have to understand…” Thom trailed, trying to find his words to explain.

                “Yes?”

                “Bet Jefferson,” he said. “Short for Elizabeth. She said it would be easier if none of us ever saw her again.” Thom was strangely cold and unattached from his words. “She had some problems after my parents got divorced… She goes to a boarding school in Connecticut.

                “There’s Jane, who I also don’t talk about, and Peter Field, who was around for a couple of months, and then some others, maybe…”

                Lafayette regretted his coldness and previous lack of compassion. “I’m sorry.” The words were simple, but they were the ones which were the gentlest and most effective.

                Thom sniffed. “It’s alright. You’re probably wondering by now, ‘what the fuck is your problem?’, right?”

                “No, that’s not what I…” Lafayette was promptly cut off.

                “I honestly don’t think there’s too many types of heartbreak that I haven’t felt by now,” he continued, “so that’s why I take it upon myself to hurt other people before they can do the same to me. Is that fucked up or what?”

                Lafayette didn’t even know how to respond to that. Yeah, that was actually _very_ fucked up, but he couldn’t just _say_ that. “Well, that’s a really shitty thing to do,” he commented, starting to tell his own story. “You have to accept the consequences of your own actions at some point, you know? I’ve _been_ in that position before, and it’s the entire reason I’m even here.”

                “What do you-”

                Sighing, he continued. He didn’t _want_ to tell this story, but maybe it was necessary. Sometimes, maybe it was necessary to accept the situation rather than letting it pass. “I have a friend,” started Lafayette. “Peter Stephen.

                “I met him on the rail one day on my way home. Hadn’t seen him before, which was unusual since only about five other people took the same line that I did.” Lafayette leaned back on his seat, remembering the days when everything seemed like it would last forever. “He was horribly awkward. Bad posture, even worse vision. His glasses were thick enough that they were probably bulletproof,” he snorted.

                “So, naturally,” he continued, “I became friends with him. He was a year younger than I was. We only saw each other on the train, but that was enough.” Lafayette paused. “He was my best friend. And then he left, one day. Pressed a letter into my hand before he got off the train. It was the last time I saw him. And it hurt, Thom.”

                Thom understood Lafayette’s point; other people couldn’t be taken lightly. “Tell me more about Peter Stephen,” he said.

                Lafayette took a deep breath. There was a lot about him that he wanted to talk about. “He was really, really smart. Never studied but always did better in school than everyone else. Always carried English books around, and was made fun of _incessantly_ for it. They called him l’Anglois. He always felt trapped by everyone else, and liked to be alone more than anything. He was bold, and daring, and somehow always seemed to know what was best for everyone. Sometimes his glasses broke, and fell right off of his face. For this purpose, he carried a small screwdriver. And-”

                “Where’s he live?”

                “Philadelphia,” Lafayette answered. “Sold himself to live in Philadelphia. Philadelphia!”

                Thom crossed his arms, gazing at the moon instead of at Lafayette. “I’ll take you there one day,” he said. “You can see your friend again. It’s rough not being able to see some again. Someone who’s close to you.” In the moonlight, looking away, so desperately cold, he almost looked, well, pretty. Pretty was the only word to describe it. And Lafayette, the romantic, kind of wanted to kiss him, but it wouldn’t do anything but make things complicated. Words weren’t really enough.

                Thom broke the silence. “All I manage to do is bring people trouble. If I did this _one_ good thing, maybe it would negate at least some of it.” He was still looking out of the window, last time Lafayette checked.

                “You also have to be honest with people,” He pointed out, turning to stare out of the window as well. “You’re…” Oh, fuck, Thom was looking at him now. _That look_ …

                Nope, Lafayette wasn’t going to give in to this, no way. There was no way… this sort of thing only happened in the trashy romance novels that he’d read too many of as a youngster in France. Too bad that Lafayette was a hopeless romantic. Yeah, he was _so_ giving in to this.

                It was a kiss, and one that was, well, kind of disappointing, at that. It didn’t feel heated or passionate or any of that, not that either of them expected it to. It just felt desperate, and _almost_ good, enough so that Lafayette didn’t draw back before kissing his host brother again. And again, even more desperately if it was possible.

                “Lafayette…” Thom mumbled, regaining control of himself. “I’m s-”

                Oh _no_. There was no excuse for this one. Lafayette didn’t let him finish his sentence, instead slapping him again, but soft enough this time as to not leave a lasting impression.

-              “What the… what the fuck was that for?” Thom exclaimed. “That was completely uncalled for, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

                Lafayette turned to face the window once again. “It’s not about you.” This was more of a plea than a question or a statement.

                “Well, then, this isn’t happening,” Thom answered, looking at Lafayette again with the _look_ he _knew_ would get him what he wanted. Lafayette nodded, and then turned back around. It wasn’t happening, and neither of them would _ever_ admit it to themselves if it had.

\---

                John didn’t like himself anymore, and it had kind of begun to take a toll on his _actual_ life. This wasn’t a new development; it had been over a year since he realized that he had become the person he didn’t want to be. Too passive, too obsessive, too meticulous. Whatever kickstarted this downward spiral into self-hatred, he couldn’t identify it. Maybe this was for the better. Maybe it would come back to haunt him.

                Oh, god, some days he couldn’t even stand to look at his own reflection. There wasn’t anything worth seeing, anyway. It was the holidays, but he didn’t want to be around his family. Or anyone, for that matter. Nothing was a matter of being energized or being tired anymore; everything took energy, and at the end of the day, there was none left. There was nothing left to be said, anyway.

\---

                And then the new year arrived, and everything was the same as before. Luckily for Laurens, this was the year he had plans to _do_ something for a change, instead of internally mope about how he didn’t have any plans for New Year’s. More specifically, he was going to go hang out with Thom and Lafayette at their place of living, since he qualified as a member of their family at this point. The weather was still warm enough to prevent it from snowing, for which he was thankful. Taking Rita the long way there would have been a disaster in such weather.

                When he pulled into the driveway of the house, he noticed something unusual; most of the lights were turned on, for a change. He’d forgotten that Jane’s side of the Jefferson family liked to come over during the holidays. However, he was actually kind of glad that there would be more people there. The more, the merrier, right?

                He pressed the doorbell, briefly reminiscing about what had happened the last time he’d come knocking on the door alone like this. It had been nearly a year ago, January 19. That time, it was much different. The ground was covered in ice, he didn’t have any shoes on, and it had been less than a time for celebration. That time, it had been a time of loss and misery.

                When he opened the door, Laurens noticed that Thom looked remarkably different after the one year as well. He looked older, somehow, but less put-together. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, and the lack of confidence in his actions was something that was new. Perhaps, Laurens noted, it was a good thing that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he had been, but perhaps it meant that he was doing something wrong.

                “John, my dear friend,” Thom nodded. “Please come in!” He was wearing pajamas, which made Laurens feel awkward about his proportional level of formality. Nothing fancy, but he’d managed to make himself look presentable in his nicest button-down shirt.

                “Happy new year,” he said, taking a look around as he stepped inside. The noise seemed to be coming from the living room.

                “And to you too.” Thom lead Laurens into the living room, where he was greeted by a sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. There were about ten other people, about seven of whom he’d met before.

                He tried to recall the names of all the people he’d met before, and managed to not come up blank. He remembered people by their appearances, but was terrible with names.

                “Hi, John,” he was greeted by Lafayette, who was clearly relieved to take a break from answering questions about himself. This was the problem with meeting new people; they always asked the same ‘how do you like it in the US of A’ question, without fail.

                “Lafayette! Happy new Year!” Laurens returned, going back to focusing on Thom’s relatives. He managed to introduce himself to everyone he didn’t know without being awkward, as well as greet everyone who he _did_ know. He noted that, unfortunately, he was probably the youngest person in the room.

                ‘ _Here it comes’_ thought Laurens miserably. ‘ _The_ ‘why aren’t you with your own family’ _question_.’ However, it never did, for which he was thankful. Being accepted _and_ acknowledged was a feeling which had grown alien to dear Laurens; it was usually a matter of picking one. Maybe there _was_ some good left in humanity. He felt welcomed here, with the exception of the artificialness of his conversation with Jane.

                “Mrs. Jefferson,” Laurens started, uncomfortable talking to her. She looked kind and was no less than polite, but he couldn’t look at her in the eyes. He didn’t know if it was because he unconsciously felt bad about having freeloaded at her expense for about four months or if he knew something which would make her feel intruded upon, but it was an awkward affair.

                “John Laurens,” she replied, looking him up and down. “How are you doing? I assume that everything’s going well? I hear you have a new job.”

                “That’s right!” Why did he feel as if he was under a microscope? This was a simple conversation. An intrusive thought came into his mind, a way to end this conversation faster. ‘ _Just tell her all the horrible shit that her son does and everything will be over faster. What? Fuck no, Laurens, honestly, what the fuck?’_ A pause. “I take care of plants now.”

                “Hm.” Jane nodded. In the right angle, she bore a striking resemblance to her son, which made Laurens tense up. There was a loud noise from the general area of the group, which she briefly looked over at. “I trust you’re doing fine on your own?”

                “Y-Yes, thank you for your concern.” Maybe this conversation wasn’t actually awkward and it was just Laurens. That was probably actually the case. “So, how are things for you, in general?” Well, that was a badly phrased question. He fiddled with a button on one of his sleeves.

                Jane smiled. “Good, thanks for asking.” And then the conversation ended; there was nothing left to say.

                Laurens didn’t remember the next hour after that. His first recollections happened only when the clock struck midnight, and everyone celebrated by toasting champagne. He recalled seeing Lafayette angrily glare at Thom as everyone was toasting, but he didn’t question it. There was nothing to notice about the exchange. He just _knew_. There was definitely something going on between the two of them, but, whatever. It was a new year, so fuck it all.

                He decided that whatever the year held in store, it was going to be _important_. Last year was a year for character development, so this one would have to be action-based, right? Even if it wouldn’t be a good thing, it was _something_. And he had _plans_.

                But man, he _really_ wished he was kissing Alexander right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write "I'm sorry" at the bottom of all of my chemistry quizzes and I feel as if doing the same here would be appropriate if I was sorry.


	9. Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only awkward if you make it awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning because george frederick pressures lafayette into hooking up with him

 

Alexander was lying on his bottom bunk, drawing pictures in the air with his right pointer finger. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, taking this night to just unwind. Charles Willson Peale, as usual, was at the table the two shared.

“That was a nice break,” exhaled Alexander. “New year, new _me_.”

Charles snorted. “Shut up, Alex, you’re never going to change,” he said, looking up from the book he was reading.

“What are you reading?” Alex asked. He hadn’t been able to finish all of the books he wished to finish in the last two weeks, but he had made some new developments.

Charles set the book down on the table, leaning back on his chair. He wasn’t going to get anything done today, either. After all, it was back to work tomorrow. “Something about natural history,” he answered. Right, he tended to be into those sort of things.

“Interesting.”

Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Charles allowed his chair to rest on four legs again. “Does this mean you’re in love with me?” he asked. “Because, you know, I actually like Rachel.”

“Ha! As if!” This reminded Alexander of something important he had to ask Charles. “Also, I kind of have to ask you about something…” he trailed. He couldn’t believe that he had to ask Charles, of all people, about it, but he saw no other way.

“Listen,” sighed Charles. “I _know_ you’re in love with me, and I’m flattered, but I’m your roommate and I think it would get weird if…”

Alexander sat up and smoothed his hair down. He shook his head. “It’s not you.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s not,” sighed Alexander. “It’s Jack Laurens.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles mumbled, “I didn’t know you were actually gay.”

“I’m _not_ , though. I’m bisexual. Does it bother you?”

“Nah,” Charles shook his head. “Sorry again. But yeah, that would make a lot of sense.”

“What do you mean?”

Shrugging, he replied, “You look at him as if he’s the one who’s going to save you from yourself. Just, like, make a move, or something. I’m pretty sure he likes you, too.”

Alex frowned. “It’s not that easy, though.”

“You can’t just back down from-”

“No, I mean,” he groaned. “Can I tell you anything, Charles?”

Charles nodded, peering over his glasses at Alexander. “Anything, as long as it’s not too horrible.”

“Okay, so don’t tell anyone, but,” Alexander went on to explain the complicated relationships of everyone in his social group. He cringed; he didn’t realize it all sounded so terrible when it was spread out.

“Uhh,” Charles droned. He was at a loss for words. “I can’t help you with this one. You should talk to…”

_Don’t say it, Charles, don’t you dare say it._

“…John Singleton Copley. He’s wise and is good at giving advice because he’s so detached from everyone else. I know you don’t really like him, but he’d be better than I am.”

“Ugh,” groaned Alexander again, staring at the ceiling. “He’s always either out or upset. Something about how people in the United States just _don’t understand art_. But if he could help me out this one time…”

“You know, it’s kind of unethical to go to someone you hate just because you need something from them,” commented Charles.

“Do I care about being ethical?”

“No.” Charles stood up. “Well, I’m going to go ask Singleton if he wants to talk to you.”

Alexander shot up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the bottom of the top bunk. “No! Wait!” he paused. “I’ll… go do it… myself…” He slowly walked to the door, dying inside the entire way there.

Charles wanted to laugh, but he didn’t out of fear of retaliation. “You don’t want to, do you?”

Alexander rested his hand on the doorknob, and looked back with an indescribable self-pity in his eyes. “Not at all.”

Suddenly, the door lurched open, making Alexander jump back a good few steps. Oh, speak of the devil. It was John Singleton Copley himself, in the flesh for once. He looked tired, as usual, but less so. He looked excited, even.

“Charles,” he said. There was an uncharacteristic lack of sangfroid in his voice. “There’s something important I have to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Charles stood up as well, his chair falling and clattering against the wooden floor. It could wait.

“I got accepted.” John Singleton smiled a rare smile. It was a sight that Alexander would never see again.

“Y-you mean…?” Charles was elated for his mentor, his _idol_.

“Yeah,” John Singleton nodded. “The art program I wanted to get into, the one from Halberstadt University. Boston.”

“I’m so…” Charles was grinning as if he, himself, had gotten into the prestigious art program. “I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life.” He walked over and gave John Singleton a- what? Was that a _hug_? From John Singleton?

The scene was so sweet that it made Alexander want to vomit a bit, but he had to give it to John Singleton.

“Congratulations, John,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

John Singleton turned to Alexander, completely dropping his elation in a split second. “Thank you,” he said, all but emotionless. Yeah, no, in this world, he only liked Charles and that _Benjamin West_ guy he always talked about.

“You want something,” noted John Singleton. “I can see it in your expression.”

‘ _Thank you, Charles, for choosing now to be silent,’_ thought Alexander. “It’s nothing. I wouldn’t want to, um, bother you during your time of celebration.”

John Singleton- get this- rolled his eyes. Fucking drama queen. The two were still holding onto opposite sides of the door handle, and making such an intense eye contact that it made Charles a bit uncomfortable.

“You can just tell me,” he said, “and I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

“Ehhhhhh,” trailed Alexander. “It’s actually kind of dumb.” Why was he intimidated like this now, of all times? Why when he actually needed whatever he was asking for.

“ _Just tell me,”_ repeated John Singleton. Charles couldn’t stand to watch this awkward confrontation for any longer, and decided to butt in.

He breathed, “Alex wants your advice on how to get a boyfriend.” Thanks, Charles.

‘ _Well, that’s_ one _way to put it_.’

To Alex’s surprise, John Singleton just raised his eyebrows. “You want _my_ advice about your boy troubles? Well, okay. Okay.”

Alex briefly looked at Charles, who was equally surprised at this rare show of kindness. Maybe something about him being in a good mood. If there was one good word to describe John Singleton, it was _bitchy_.

“So what is it?” he asked. “What do you need?”

“Uhm…” Alexander tried to think. “Well, there’s this guy. Jack Laurens.”

John Singleton gestured at the small table in the room. This was going to be a long discussion.

\---

It was January fourth, a new day of a new year, and more importantly, a new semester.

‘ _Today’s the day I’m going to confess to Laurens_ ,’ thought Alexander as he walked along the sidewalk, waiting for Rita to come into view. It was cold, but his mind was occupied with other thoughts, mainly of his New Year’s resolutions. He’d made a list: one, to have the highest class ranking (he was currently at number five, behind John, Thom, Aaron, and Deborah Sampson); two, to become the best student treasurer that the world had ever seen; three, to finally get a chance to make out with Jack Laurens and kick Jerkferson’s fucking ass. Getting a new lab partner was also pretty high up there, but it seemed the most unrealistic at the time.

‘ _Oh, hey, there’s Rita.’_ Nope, today was not going to be the day that he confessed to Laurens, no way. It was too risky; maybe next week would be better.

“You ready for another kickass year of school?” asked Laurens as Alexander buckled his seatbelt. He couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic, but he nodded anyway.

“Sure am,” he replied. “I’m going to get the highest class ranking this year.”

Laurens rolled his eyes. “The class ranking system is kind of archaic and is mostly just a way to publicly humiliate or praise people based on how well they do in standardized education,” he pointed out. “I mean, it’s the twenty-first century already.”

“What’s your point?”

“I mean, it’s _dumb_.”

Alexander shook his head. “I disagree, but I suppose we all have differing opinions on the matter.” He wasn’t about to get into an argument with Laurens. Not now, at least.

“Anyway,” Laurens moved on, “I’m kind of worried for John. He’s not doing so great.”

“What do you mean?” asked Alexander. Sure, he maybe thought about destroying him twice a day, but that didn’t mean he didn’t _care_.

“Well,” he thought out loud. “He hasn’t responded to anyone’s texts for upward of two weeks, so that’s pretty bad. He’s been known to go through cycles of depression, which is worse.”

“I didn’t know that,” Alex commented. “He’s really clingy. I never thought it would be because he’s depressed.”

Laurens shrugged. “Well, since nobody’s been able to fucking get through to him, nobody really knows. He rejected all of _my_ calls, _and_ all of Thom’s calls, which makes it weird.” Rita then skidded to a halt, which seemed sudden to Alexander. Laurens, he’d gotten used to this.

He sighed, “Rita’s getting old. Started breaking down a lot a couple of weeks ago. Hang on.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of the vehicle. He looked at Alexander, who did the same. “Hand me my wrench,” he sighed again. “It’s in the glove compartment.”

Alexander reached into the dark glove compartment, and rummaged around until he felt something wrench-like. He got out and handed it to Laurens, who had already popped the hood.

“ _Same bolts keep coming loose,”_ he grumbled. “I don’t think Rita’s going to last too much longer,” he said, this time with a note of melancholy. “I don’t have any disposable income to get her repaired, and I’m pretty sure that at this point the insurance is worth more than the car itself.”

“I’m sorry,” Alexander tried to console his friend. “What are you going to do after…?”

Laurens was preoccupied with tightening the bolts, and so his answer came out in little snippets. “I… have… no… idea. Going to… have to figuresomethingout.” He spent five more minutes on this ordeal, before calling it a day and closing the hood again.

“Well, Alex, we’re going to be approximately ten minutes late.” He swiped at a spot of grime on his face, which only made the problem worse because of the dirt and grime on his hands. “Whatever,” he groused. “Hand me the rag that’s also in the glove compartment?”

Alex obliged, and after he was done wiping off his hands (his face was an entire other issue) the two were back on the road again. If Laurens wasn’t so frustrated, the grime on his face would have been kind of cute.

“ _Fuck this_ ,” whispered Laurens as he increased the acceleration.

‘ _Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t know he got road rage,’_ thought Alexander. “J-Jack, are you okay? Is there anything you want to talk about? I’ve never really seen you get this frustrated or upset before.” Oh, Laurens just missed the exit that he usually took. There went fifteen minutes to the next exit. He instantly slowed down. Alex had never feared for his life while Laurens was driving before, but there was a first for everything.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Laurens. “This is really unlike me. I just started thinking about education, right? And then it got to the point where I’m like, ‘I don’t have any money so I can’t do anything and I’m stuck in a dead-end location for the rest of my life’, which has kind of been stressful lately, you know?”

“I know,” Alex sighed. “I know. Jack, I want you to know that you can vent to me if you need to. Always.”

Laurens took a deep breath. “I’ve got a lot of venting to do, okay?”

\---

When Alex got to first-period chemistry class, he immediately noticed that something was different; John wasn’t here. Normally, he was here twenty minutes before class chatting Mr. Franklin up, but somehow the lack of him made the room feel larger and colder. Normally if he wasn’t here Alexander might have rejoiced in the fact, but given the circumstances, there was nothing to rejoice about. There was something that felt very… _wrong_. Oh, yeah, Aaron Burr had also been moved to this chemistry period. He sat in the back row, like all the other people who thought they were too _good_ for sitting in the front row, never contributed to class, but always managed to do well. That’s where _Thom_ always sat, fucking traitor.

It was also in this class period that he was handed the new semester’s schedule, which appeared to be mostly the same as before. However, there was one significant change: he had an actual English class this time, with Mr. John Dickinson. He’d seen him around before, and seemed like a nice enough guy. Finally, his damn class schedule was all put together. His free periods were now fourth and sixth, as opposed to sixth and seventh. This was definitely a change he could live with.

After clearing his throat for the start of class, Mr. Franklin announced, “Well, everyone, today’s the day we’re going to blow things up.”

“…Really?” a brave soul contributed.

“No, we’re starting on periodic trends, so please get out your notetaking devices of choice, and we’ll begin.” Today was going to be a long day.

\---

When the class ended, Alexander put his notebooks and pencil case away in his old backpack before he felt a sharp tug at one end of his collar. He quickly straightened it before he looked up.

“Jerkferson?” he observed. “I haven’t seen you in around two weeks.”

Thom rolled his eyes. People seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Let’s chat, Hamilton.”

“Hm,” Alexander exhaled. “How come you call me by my last name now?”

“Walk with me.” Thom, in an unusual display of _patience_ , waited for Alexander before they left the room and talked in hushed voices as they walked down the hallway.

“How come you only ever want to talk to me when you need something?” pointed out Alex. He knew the answer.

“Because I’d rather suffer six months of hard labor than talk to you for an hour. Now, _listen_ ,” Thom paused. “…It’s important.”

“So, are you going to tell me, or?”

Shrugging, he replied, “Well, maybe… yeah.” The two turned a corner, meeting a staircase. This was the _long_ way around.

“Listen,” started Alex. “I know you’re probably going to say something really emotionally tolling to me, and then you’re going to try to avoid talking about it by somehow, somewhere having sex with me.

“And I mean, I’m okay with that, but seriously, get your shit together, man, or it’s about to hit the fan.”

Thom suddenly appeared to be _very_ interested in the design of the carpet underfoot. It was so… grey… and had endured years of people spilling crumbs on it…

“W-well what I had to tell you was actually important, okay? You’re not totally wrong, but it’s… It’s about, uh, John.” Alexander looked over at him, surprised to see that he bore a terribly guilty expression on his face. This was a first. “Do you want to just skip orchestra?”

Alex looked around. “Think anyone’ll notice?” he asked, to which Thom shrugged.

“I know a place.”

As Alexander soon found out, the “place” meant the sofa under the stage, which was surrounded by: a nightstand, which held contents which he didn’t really want to examine, various candles and boxes of matches, and most importantly, the sofa which was made of gaudy red velvet that he wouldn’t have sat on in any case other than the current circumstances. It was better than the floor, which probably had stains on it too dark to see.

Alex reclined back on the couch, and put his feet on Thom’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind. “So, what were you saying?” he asked.

Thom’s face was mostly shaded from view, but he could tell it wasn’t a happy one. “Well, John won’t answer any of my calls or texts, which is _very_ concerning.”

“Jack told me,” replied Alex. “What of it?”

“Well…” he trailed, unsure what to say. “I think he hates himself because of _me_.”

“You?”

Thom’s breathing suddenly grew to slow, heavy breaths which Alexander could hear. “He’s virtuous. He doesn’t deserve someone like _me._ ” Emphasis on the word _me_ again.

Sighing, Alexander said, “I’m not going to argue with that.”

“Glad you _agree_. I’m probably going to stop by his house after school today to give him his books and stuff.” He paused. “Or, if anything, he’ll be at the speech meet on Saturday. I’ll be fucked if he misses a speech meet for anything.”

“It seems like John cares a lot about forensics,” noted Alexander.

“Yeah, he thinks that giving speeches is ‘manly’, or whatever.” The wistful tone in Thom’s voice was one that Alexander secretly hoped that someone would adopt for him someday. On the other hand, though, it was unsettling; Thom and Alexander both knew that at this point, he needed John more than John needed him.

“Listen…” Alex began. He felt, he _knew_ this time that it was time to end things. “Thom, I really think you should take your relationship with John more seriously. It’s only going to hurt you if you don’t.”

“Yeah?” Thom knew what was coming.

Alexander looked straight at him, twisting a piece of his hair between this fingers. “So I’m breaking up with you.”

“We weren’t dating to begin with.”

He kept going with his less-than-formal breakup. “I mean, you were my first kiss, and first… everything else, essentially, and I really don’t want you to stop sticking your tongue down my throat at every opportunity, but it’s probably for the best.”

Thom thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, I can see where you’re coming from,” he agreed, “but as it stands, you’re not going to stop lusting after me until you find someone better. We’re holding this off until _you_ ,” he reached out one of his ridiculously long arms to prod Alex in the chest, “finally get together with other John.”

“Is that an ultimatum?”

“Yes.” More of an _excuse_ if anything, and damn, didn’t Thom know it. “I know we made an agreement that anyone could break it off at _any_ time and that neither of us could develop actual feelings for the other person, but it’s for the better this way.”

For the better, but not for the best.

“Alexander,” Thom said again, this time his voice low and suave. “Don’t you know what this sofa is _for_?” He really just wanted someone to moan inside his mouth by now.

\---

“Hey!” Thom called, striding quickly to catch up with she whom he was chasing. “Angelica?”

Angelica, however, kept walking. “Hi, Thom,” she said as she kept walking, perhaps faster than before. When Thom caught up to her (which took approximately five seconds), she finally acknowledged his presence.

“Thom, what do you want?” she asked. In the two months since October, their relationship dynamic had changed completely. It was as if she actively tried to ignore his existence.

Thom jammed his hands in his pockets, trying to think of an answer. “I just want to spend time with you,” he replied. “Do I need a reason to want to be around you? Anyway, we have French together next…” he trailed. Perhaps this was a battle which he could only lose, so he stopped trying to keep up with her.

“Sorry,” Angelica apologized. “I’ve been under some pressure lately about college stuff and irritability has gone through the roof.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t worry about it, Angie. I get it.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that. Multiple times.”

Thom chuckled. “I’m never going to stop calling you Angie. Throwback to those middle school days.”

“Shut up,” retorted Angelica. “ _Tommy_. It feels like I haven’t talked to you in a supremely long period of time.”

“It’s ‘cause you haven’t,” Thom pointed out.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Thom breathed, even though it was clearly not okay. For once, he hadn’t been elusive about his true intentions; he just wanted to be with Angelica, so long as she wanted to be around him.

\---

Alexander took a deep breath when he walked into room 216, his new English classroom. Mr. Dickinson was rather plain looking, with the exception of his _exceptionally_ rosy cheeks. There were several newspaper clippings and world maps adorning the walls; he did some freelance work for the Capital Gazette. Alex went over to his desk for the purpose of introducing himself.

“Hi, sir,” he said. “I’m Alexander Hamilton; I’ll be joining this class this semester.” Mr. Dickinson looked up as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Dickinson grinned, taking Alex’s hand. “It’s a pleasure, Alex. Welcome to eighth period American literature.” He looked around for an empty seat. “We have assigned seats, so you’ll be sitting over there,” he gestured. “Oh, and it’ll likely be a day or so before I can get you a textbook, so for now, you can look off of someone else.”

Alexander looked back to the seat he was assigned, and internally cringed. He was between Laurens, who was also apparently in this class now, and Aaron Burr, who was just the Worst.

“Hi, Jack,” he greeted as he took his assigned seat.

Laurens didn’t notice Alex’s presence, as he was rummaging in his bag for a pencil. He looked up, slightly surprised that someone was speaking to him; at this point, nobody quite remembered _why_ Laurens wasn’t spoken about, but he was still ignored by many. “Alex!” he said. “You’re in this class, too? S-small world.” He was definitely not planning to stare at him for the entire semester.

Aaron lightly tapped Alexander’s shoulder from the other side. “Alexander, remember, Friday’s the day we’re getting together to practice” he reminded as the bell rang. Thank _god_ he wouldn’t have to speak for another forty minutes.

As Mr. Dickinson began to say something about the new year, he looked once again to his left, where Laurens was seated. Their eyes made a brief but sweet connection for a second before both looked away once again.

\---

There was an empty place in the student council room where John should’ve been, but other than that, everyone was present. There were currently seven people on the behalf of the council: George Washington, of course, Henry Knox, Edmund Randolph, Dolley Payne, John Adams, Deborah Sampson, and now Alexander. There was also James Madison on behalf of the school newspaper, but he didn’t count. Wait.

Alexander was excited to be on the student council; his goal was to eventually become president, but after one year alone, it seemed unlikely that he’d get the position. aWait.

Upon walking in the room, he was immediately given a folder full of financial records for clubs, and told that everyone had unanimously voted him in as the new treasurer. So much for that.

“What does everyone else do?” Alexander asked as a broad to the people who were sitting at the circular table in the center of the room. They took this as a cue to introduce themselves.

“You already know me,” said George, passing the question on. The student on his right spoke up.

“Henry Knox,” Henry introduced himself. He was a bit robust and had a large build. He was someone who Alex didn’t want to get into any fights with soon. “I’m the student coordinator for athletics.”

“Hi, I’m Edmund Randolph, nice to meet you,” another student then said. He actually stood up and walked over to shake Alexander’s hand, which he found to be a welcoming touch. “I’m in charge of resource committee.”

“Dolley Payne, social committee, pleased to make your acquaintance,” another girl then said. She was rather pretty, and seemed like the type to be a social butterfly. Alexander vaguely recalled someone mentioning her name at some point.

“Deborah Sampson. I’m in charge of service.” Deborah looked Alexander up and down, sizing him up. “And you are…?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” Alex said, extending his hand to each new person at a time, “But you can call me Alex. I’m in charge of finance, I suppose.” He turned around as he heard the door open behind him loudly.

“Hi, I’m…” he heard an annoyingly familiar voice say. _Ugh_. “Sorry, am I interrupting anything?”

George nodded. “Thomas,” he greeted. “How, uh, nice of you to join us.”

Thom shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just now decided that I actually would like to be a part of the student council, and I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, clearly interrupting Alexander’s attempt to make a good impression on everyone. “Hi Edmund, Henry, Dolley, Deborah, James,” he nodded to James, who was inconspicuous and small in his seat at the table. “ _Hamilton_. And thank you, George.” He took one of the two empty seats at the table, before he briefly stood up again. “Oh, and I’m in charge of student coordinations.”

‘ _Thanks for ruining the atmosphere, Jerkferson_.’

“Yes, so,” George gestured around as everyone took their respective seats. “As everyone can see, we have two new members, which is _exciting_ , but we also have a great agenda for the next few months. For one thing, visitors’ week is next week, and we have to find people for that, and club budgets are also due next week, which is important because the school play is _also_ next week and we need to calculate revenue for that.”

Since it was a round table, Alexander didn’t need to wait for permission before he spoke. “Am I in charge of all of this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Washington answered. “There _is_ the finance committee, but it’s mostly a waste of time unless they can do things for us. They’re usually in charge of running ticket booths.”

“Is that it?” asked Henry. Alexander wasn’t sure how to feel about him; he got to the point awfully quickly, but he was informal about it. Alex abhorred informality.

George looked around, off-put by this inquiry. “Yes,” he answered again. “So, I suppose that’s meeting dismissed? We’ll have another meeting tomorrow.” As everyone filed out of the room, he called, “Thom and Alex should stay.”

Thom drummed his fingers against the table. “What am I doing, exactly?”

“Good question,” commented George. He rummaged through his mind’s filing cabinets for a moment, before responding, “Nothing, as of now. Anyway,” he gestured to both of them, “thoughts?”

Alexander took a deep breath. “So, do I go to clubs, or do they come to me?” he inquired.

“They come to you.”

“That’s all I need,” replied Alexander.

“Me too,” said Thom.

George shrugged. “Well, then, meeting adjourned.” He waited until Thom and Alex were both out of the room to lock up.

Walking out of the meeting room, Alexander looked at Thom, and asked, “You’re going to go see him now?”

“Yeah,” Thom breathed. “Wish me fucking luck.”

\---

Thom rang the doorbell to John’s home, not knowing what to expect or who would open the door. He hoped foremost that it wouldn’t be as awkward as he’d made it out to be. The Adams family lived in the typical middle class suburban home, barely distinguishable from the other brick houses around it. There was a mat at the green front door that read, “Goodbye”, the most unique it was going to get.

After a minute, he rang the doorbell again, this time hearing footsteps coming to open it. He braced himself. To Thom’s surprise, the one who opened the door was… one of John’s brothers? He looked to be about twelve or thirteen.

“Hi,” Peter said, sizing Thom up. He was about seven inches shorter, and futilely tried his best to not have to look ­up when he made eye contact. “May I help you?”

“Hi,” Thom replied. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time, but is John the younger one home?”

Peter blinked. “May I ask, who are you?” he inquired. “I think I’ve seen you before at some point.”

“Uh, I think I’m…” Thom trailed. He was interrupted, however, by Peter again.

“You kissed my brother,” Peter concluded, before stepping aside to invite him inside. “So I guess I should trust that you’re not a murderer or something. Anyway,” he shrugged, “he’s in his room at the end of the hall. Says he feels sick, so be careful or whatever. You should probably leave by five thirty unless you want an awkward conversation with our parents.” With that, Peter left him to his own business.

He took off his shoes at the door, making for the quietest possible movement. End of the hall, okay, okay. The door was closed, with a crack of light coming through it. It wasn’t what Thom expected; although Peter and Elihu’s doors both had nameplates and papers taped to them, John’s was blank. Maybe having a blank door was a coming of age sort of thing.

He took a deep breath, and reached out to knock on the door. At this point, he was anxious, but he didn’t know why. His knuckles rapped on the beige door three times before he heard an exhausted John’s voice say, “come in!”

_This_ was the moment of truth; Thom had never actually been inside John’s house before, let alone his room, so he didn’t know what to expect. He cracked the door open about an inch. “..Hi.”

He couldn’t actually _see_ John, but he knew from the tone that he was _so_ rolling his eyes right now. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. “Come the fuck in, fucko.”

“…Okay.” Thom entered the room completely, and shut the door behind him. This was more of what he expected from John; three of the walls were painted white and left completely blank, but the fourth was completely covered in photos, magazine covers, maps, and newspaper clippings. John was at his desk, which had trays of neatly organized papers and ink stains all over the white surface.

“Hey,” started Thom, beginning to pull some books out of his messenger bag. “I’m actually technically here to give you some of the work that you missed today.” He handed John the books, which he set on the corner of his desk. It was only then that he actually got a closer look at him.

John, although one who didn’t know him well probably couldn’t tell, was a mess. He was tired, he hadn’t bothered to put in contact lenses but his glasses were smudged and even broken on one side, and he’d probably forgotten to shower for about two days.

“Hey,” replied John. “What are you doing here?” He wasn’t happy, of course, but he didn’t sound upset either. There was no tinge of melancholy in his voice; there was only disinterest.

Thom closed his eyes and leaned on the back of the door. “I came to see if you were okay, I mean, nobody’s heard from you in like, a week.”

John appeared to be surprised. “Really?” he asked. “It’s been _that_ long?”

“Yeah. We’ve all been super worried about you…”

John spoke again after a few seconds. “I’ve been kind of in a rough spot lately.”

‘ _And it’s my fault_.’ “You should, take a shower, maybe? Or drink water?” Thom glanced around, and caught notice of the only other splash of color in the room. It was a bulletin board, upon which there were about twenty blue ribbons, fifteen red, and ten white pinned. It was John’s only source of pride.

“You think so?”

Thom walked a few steps and gently began to massage John’s shoulders. “Listen,” he said. “do you want to talk about whatever you’re going through? Because I want to be there for you, okay? I love you, John.”

John didn’t say “I love you” back. He only said, “I don’t have anything to talk about. I’m just tired.”

“Of what?”

Sighing, he answered, “Everything, Thom. I’m tired of my own feelings. I just want to take a break from it all.”

“It?”

“Listen, this has been nice and all, but see you tomorrow.” This was John’s way of telling Thom that this has been nice and all, but I would like to stop sensing your presence. He was drained already.

“Tomorrow? See you tomorrow,” Thom gave his goodbye as he left and shut the door behind him.  ‘ _Did he even look at me that entire time?’_

“Hey,” he heard a voice say. “How’d it go?” Peter again.

Thom shrugged. “I don’t even know, man.”

“Same,” Peter sighed. “John’s been like that for like, three weeks, now. Do you want a glass of water before you leave?”

Thom nodded. “Why not?”

“Wait here.”

After a minute, Peter came back with glasses of water for both of them. These were the _fancy_ glasses reserved for when there was _company_. Thom felt blessed.

“So, what grade are you in?” he asked. Might as well win Peter over when he had the chance.

“Eighth,” he answered. “It’s honestly just _bad_. I hate middle school.”

“Oh, yeah, middle school was the worst,” agreed Thom. “I don’t even remember anything from it, I think. Besides, like, the De Lome letter.”

Peter snorted. “The _De Lome_ letter. How lame. I’m more of a math person.”

“What do you do for fun?”

He had to think about it for a moment before answering. “I don’t… really know. I guess I play piano, if that counts.” Peter liked Thom; typically people only tended to ask him about John or whatever he was doing, so this was a nice, _welcomed_ change from the ordinary.

“Sure it does!” replied Thom. “I play piano, too, you know? I also heard you like drawing.”

“Really?” asked Peter. “I mean, I’m not _good_ at it, but it’s a thing I do.” This was Thom’s method of getting people to like him- get them to talk about themselves. “What do _you_ do?”

“M-me?”

Peter nodded happily. “Yeah, you. Anything cool? John can’t date anyone who’s not cool.”

Thom grinned weakly. He had to pick something that a thirteen-year-old boy would think is cool. _‘I fuck your brother_.’

“I collect coins.”

Okay, he blew it. This was  _ just _ like the Rebecca Burwell incident, maybe even worse.

“That’s, uh, _kind_ of cool,” Peter nodded. “it could be worse.”

‘ _What the hell do thirteen year olds think is cool?’_ “I’m glad you feel that way,” said Thom. “You know, it’s actually quite interesting, because the history of coinage is so diverse and varied around the globe. For example, in some countries, they use coins with holes in them so that they can be strung and made easier to carry. Also, the mint has represented the people’s ideals for as long as it has been in existence…” he paused. “You don’t care, do you?”

“A little,” Peter admitted. “Anyway, so how long have you been dating John, exactly?”

‘ _It could be worse. It could be his parents_.’

“It’s complicated,” answered Thom. “Perhaps three months, now? Officially.”

“ _I know you’re talking about me!”_ a muffled call came from John’s room. Oh, so _now_ he decided to say something.

            Peter lowered his voice, taking on a serious tone. “Listen,” he said, quietly enough that even Thom could barely hear him, “if you cheat on my brother I won’t hesitate to murder you.”

            ‘ _ Fuck fuck fuck _ .’ “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” Thom set down his glass. “I should probably…” he started, before he was interrupted by the click of the back door.

            “Well, there’s my parents,” observed Peter. Well, today was as good a day to meet the rest of John’s family as ever. Except that John didn’t want to be there to help him rough it out.

            Peter cleared his throat loudly. “Mom, Dad, Elihu, John’s,” he paused to look at Thom and back, “ _ friend _ is here to give him his books and stuff.” In a moment, Susanna, John, Sr., and Elihu came through to the front of the house.

            “Actually,” Thom said awkwardly, “I was just in the process of leaving, but nice to meet you.” He put out his hand. “I’m Thom…as Jefferson. I’m your son’s friend. As Peter said, I came to give him his books and other work he missed.” If only he’d left a moment earlier than he had decided to!

            Susanna smiled a genuine smile, taking Thom’s hand. She looked remarkably like her son. “Nice to meet you, Thomas. I’ve heard some about you. Only good things.”

John, Sr. shook Thom’s hand as well, but he said nothing. Elihu only waved.

            “Well, I’m glad for that,” he said. He pointed at the door. “I’m sorry to cut our meeting so short, but I actually was planning on leaving  _ right _ as you came. It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Peter is a pretty cool kid.”

            “You drive on your own?” asked Susanna.

            “Yeah… I mean, yes.”

            “Impressive,” Susanna nodded. The trait of nodding, Thom noted, seemed to be a hereditary one. “Well, if you should get going, get going. It’s getting dark.”

            Thom headed for the door. “Again, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. I hope John feels better any day now.”

            “So do I,” said Susanna as he left. When he closed the door behind him, she commented, “He seems like a nice boy. John should make more friends like him.”

\---

“ _For the last time, George…”_ Lafayette said as he waited for George Frederick to finish locking up the auditorium. It was _The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail_ , and he was lucky enough to play the part of Bailey, the illiterate jail mate. It wasn’t a bad role, actually, except that Aaron Burr was Emerson. Emerson!

With all respects to him, though, Aaron was quite a good actor, but it was just the fact that _he_ could be good at something which pissed Lafayette off to no end. William Pitt, of course, was Henry David (or David Henry) himself. He _was_ an exceptional actor and would have rightfully gotten the lead if anyone else had directed it, but Lafayette didn’t like that _he_ was a friend of Frederick’s, either.

“… _tell me where you’ve been_.” Although it was the first real practice of the many that would ensue over the next two months, Frederick had scheduled it an hour after school ended because he had _places_ to be. He wouldn’t tell anyone where.

Locking the door behind him, Frederick shook his head. “No.” It was the same answer that he’d given five- five! times before. This time, he added on something else. “It’s personal.” He mentally cursed himself for offering to give Lafayette a ride home, because he knew that he’d just be pestered with the same question over and over again.

Frederick didn’t know what it was about Lafayette, but something about him just seemed _provocative_ and intrigued him. All he knew was that, even though it was hypocritical, he _so badly_ wanted to bend him over a table and-

Nope, no way. Frederick wouldn’t let himself stoop to that level. Probably. He would just have to see how things went first. Knowing that Lafayette didn’t like him, _knowing_ that it was wrong, all this taboo just bothered him even more. He hoped that he was able to conceal all of this angst as well as he thought he had. In any case, Lafayette definitely probably hadn’t even noticed yet.

Was he, George Frederick, being weird again? It’s not like he felt anything- _anything_ serious for his dear underclassman, anyway. But he hadn’t felt _this_ way about anyone before, either.

“Let’s go,” he said, gesturing for the front door to the building.

TRANSITION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Tell me,” Lafayette repeated, clicking his seatbelt into the slot in the seat. The interior of the car was plush; he ran his hands over it back and forth out of anxiety.

Frederick put the key into the ignition, and drove out of the parking lot before repeating _his_ usual answer. “No.”

“Listen, Lafayette, I have to tell you something.” He’d decided in the last minute that he was going to tell Lafayette how he actually felt about him; it was either this, or the secret that he hadn’t told anyone for eighteen years.

‘ _Yes, he’s finally going to tell me!’_ thought Lafayette. He took a deep breath. “G-George, you can tell me anything.” This was a lie, but he’d been told to keep his enemies closer than his friends, or whatever John always said.

The truth was that Frederick hadn’t been quite _with it_ lately, as he liked to put it. Not that it was his fault, anyway.

Frederick was resigned to just accepting _it_. He had acute porphyria, and it wasn’t one of the cases that would go away. Some days were worse than others, some months were worse than others, and some _years_ were worse than others, this one in particular so far was bad. Frederick, who knew that his life would at least be spent in comfort, was resigned to the fact that he would probably be in a mental health institution by age forty-five, so he might as well live in the moment, trying to convince himself that he _knew_ what he was doing, and if he didn’t then so _be_ it. And if Lafayette, the object of his lust, wasn’t vulnerable and next to him as he probably wouldn’t be in a while, at least when he had the courage to…

He was still driving on autopilot, not sure if he’d end up getting into an accident or not if he kept on driving this way, but dying right now wouldn’t be _too_ bad. It would save him from an awkward confession to an Anglican priest, at least.

“Lafayette, I have dreams about you.” That was a nice start, right? A nice way to put it.

Lafayette needed to see where this was going. “…Yeah?” He still thought the confession would be innocent.

Frederick nodded, eyes still fixed on the road ahead of him. There was a stoplight about sixty yards ahead which he was preparing to slow down for. “They’re really erotic.”

“Wh-what does erotic mean?” he asked, unknowing if he _really_ wanted to know.

Frederick didn’t hesitate. “Sexual,” he answered. The word hung in the air.

Not knowing what to do, Lafayette internally screamed; he wanted to melt into the plush seat covers and pretend he’d never heard anything.

_‘_ _I have two options now_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _I either seduce him or call the police for sexual harassment.’_ He wasn’t the most rational thinker in times of crisis.

“I understand if you never want to speak to me again or anything,” Frederick said, also putting his hand on Lafayette’s leg.  “but I really, really _want_ you. I’ve never felt this way about a _guy_ before, but something about you…”

            Lafayette internally cringed, and wanted nothing more in that moment than to have never accepted his offer in the first place. It would have saved him from a world of bad feelings. This was it. He couldn’t risk being the enemy of his enemy- worst case scenario, he could even manage to get him sent back to France. It was a stretch, but even the thought of risking it made Lafayette hurt inside. Was he going to do this? And less than a week after…

            “George…” he trailed. “I didn’t know you felt that way.” He’d been in this situation before, and last time it had ended the same way. He brushed Frederick's hand which was still on his leg with his own hand, trying to create a mood.

            ‘ _ I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this, I  _ don’t _ want! This! At a- _ ’

            “So are we doing this or not?”

            Lafayette didn’t like the fact that he’d hooked up with two guys in the back seats of their cars in less than two weeks, or the fact that he was  _ so easy _ , or the fact that Frederick was so good with his hands. He didn’t like the way the windows were fogging up or the way that Frederick’s fingers slid over his skin so effortlessly. He didn’t like any of it. He just wanted  _ out _ . He didn’t want Frederick to touch him like this.

            ‘ _ I have done a bad thing,’ _ he thought. ‘ _ I have done a very bad thing.’ _

\---

            So, Jack,” Alexander said, mindlessly swirling around a plain ballpoint pen between his fingers. “You used to do speech, right? This weekend’s my first meet, so do you have any advice?” The two were taking a brief walk around the block before Alexander got home. It was surprisingly warm for a January, and anyway, they would take what they could get to spend time together.

            “Give speeches like everyone else is wrong,” replied Laurens. “I  _ wish _ I still did speech. What event are you doing?”

            “Public forum with my best friend, Aaron Burr,” answered Alexander unexcitedly. “Exciting.”

            Laurens playfully rolled his eyes and clutched his chest. “I thought  _ I _ was your best friend,” he commented. “Or, at least in Annapolis.”

            “No, don’t worry, you’re more than that.”

            Fuck, had Alexander actually said that  _ out loud _ ?

            “Hey, there’s Rita,” he point ed out. Rita was a life saver. “Gonna kiss me before you go?”

            “Psh,” Laurens shrugged. As if he didn’t want to! “You  _ wish _ ! Anyway, see you tomorrow, or something.”

            “Yeah,” replied Alexander, walking the opposite way. “Or something.”

            ‘ _ Tomorrow, _ ’ he thought. ‘ _ Tomorrow’s the day I’m going to tell Jack how I really feel and finally end things with Jerkferson.’ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IP is just a really long shitpost tbh  
> I haven't finished a single chapter in 3 weeks now.  
> Comments make my entire week.  
> Discussion question: Why can't Lafayette just have a normal exchange year?


	10. Impedimenta (again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurens finally takes matters into his own hands and makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter in like 30 minutes.

In Alexander Hamilton’s narrative, everything else could wait.

                “Alexander Hamilton, I really like you,’ breathed Laurens. It was Friday afternoon, and the two were alone in walking down the hallway to Laurens’s small two-room apartment. The day had been long and dragging, and he felt like all of it had just been leading up to this moment. “More than anyone else.”

                Alexander felt his heart rate pick up; after weeks of promising to himself that he was going to confess, Laurens did it first. It was a relief, if anything. “Y-yeah,” he replied on shaky breath. “It’s why we’re friends.”

                Laurens stopped in his tracks, realizing that this was what he’d been doing all along. He’d been blatantly ignoring Alexander’s cues, because he couldn’t bear to believe, even for a moment, that he could be the object of mutual attraction. “No,” he returned. “Not like _that_.” He blushed. This was so _awkward_. “I mean, like…”

                Finally getting closure on the crush he previously thought was unrequited, Alexander playfully rolled his eyes. “I know what you meant, Jack. I like you too.”

                “You mean…?”

                Alexander walked back to Laurens, who he’d gotten several feet ahead of. “Yes, you idiot, I like you, as in more than a friend, and frankly I’m a bit astonished that it’s taken you _this_ long to notice.” He grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down to his height. “Like this.”

                It was a kiss. It was the most notably unremarkable kisses Alexander had ever experienced in his vast experience of kissing, but it was simultaneously the most wonderful in the release of all the romantic frustration that had accumulated over the past three months. Their warmth sealed off all of the cold winter air, and when Alex pulled away from the chasteness of it all, the was met with a Laurens in wide-eyed surprise. There was some nervous laughter.

                Alex looked away. “S-sorry,” he said. “I just had to do that once in my life, if ever.” His breathing was heavy from the intensity of it all.

                “No!” returned Laurens. “That was great, but I mean…” He lost his train of thought momentarily. “Kind of fast.”

                “So, um, are we going to act on anything?”

                Laurens closed his eyes and walked forward. “Just give me some time to think about it. All this time I’ve been worried that you would _hate_ me or something, so I’m kind of unprepared if we’re actually going to be a thing. But yes, I would definitely like to kiss you again. And again.”

                “I’m really happy right now,” breathed Alexander.

                “Yeah,” agreed Laurens. “Me too.”

                For both of them, this meant everything. To Alexander, having won Laurens over meant not only a personal victory, but a chance to escape the exhaustion of everything and just focus on the flimsiness of love for once. He finally had a permanent connection to someone in Annapolis, someone who wouldn’t just forget him once he left.

                Laurens had faced severe rejection in his life. He’d faced rejection from the society around him, his family, and most importantly, himself. He was moving on, alright, and he was moving on _fast_ once he’d jumped off of the starting block. The world couldn’t hold John Laurens down any longer, and for this steady stream of strength, he was thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned


	11. Plot Twists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's the joke?  
> The joke is that John's best friend, John Marshall, is Thom's cousin and they hate each other.  
> The joke is that "Nothing Gold Can Stay", especially when it applies to Laurens.  
> The joke is that Lafayette has no clue how to say no.  
> The joke is that Alex can't figure out why and how this became his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter featuring no indentations because it was easier to take them out than to put them in.

 

Another day of snow, another day when Alexander was at peace with himself _knowing_ , if anything, that he had John Laurens to rely on. He’d been so hung up on it over the past few days that Charles had been able to find a chink in the armor he thought to be so immaculately crafted.

“Hey,” Charles had noted last evening, a Sunday. “You’ve seemed kind of out of for the last day or so, is everything okay?”

“It’s _more_ than okay,” Alex replied. “You know Jack Laurens?”

“Longer than you have.”

“…Yeah.” And that was it. No more needed to be said for Charles to get that yes, they had _finally_ admitted their feelings for each other, and yes, everything was going rather swimmingly.

Strangely enough, however, Alexander didn’t see the familiar sight of Laurens on his way to Frederick High School, and had to walk all the way.

‘ _Hm,’_ he thought. Laurens wasn’t one to ever miss school; it was the only thing which gave his life structure, after all.

\---

“Hey,” Lafayette said as he saw Alexander walk by his spot in the hallway. “Alexander.”

Alex turned around. “Lafayette, hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

Lafayette smiled. “You and Laurens, huh?” he teased. His colloquialisms sounded more natural every day, for which he was thankful. His English had hardly been anything more than awful when he first arrived.

“Sh-shut up,” returned Alex. “I take it he told you stuff?”

“Yeah.” One day, Lafayette wanted someone to look at him the way that Alex looked when he talked about Laurens. There was Thom, of course, but that was _different_. “Congratulations, my baby friends.”

“Baby friends?” snorted Alexander, walking ahead with his companion. “Okay…”

“Anyway, Alex, I have something I’d like to talk to you about,” Lafayette continued, beginning to display signs of anxiety. His hands began to fidget. “I mean, euh, not if you don’t _want_ to talk about it, but it is kind of bad. Yes, bad.”

“Of _course_ I’ll listen,” Alex reassured. “Anything for a friend.”

Lafayette was unsure where to start; _he_ was the one who was to blame for his own problems, and _he_ was the one who’d led on both Thom and George Frederick, and at this point, there was nothing that could be done about it.

George Frederick chose a most unfortunate time to walk by. He stopped when he saw Lafayette in the hallway, minding his own business.

“Lafayette,” he said as he slowed down. “There something that’s kind of important that I need to talk to you about.”

Lafayette sized him up. “Funny, I was probably going to talk to you about the same thing…”

The bell rang, and Alex took this as an opportunity to excuse himself.

Lafayette tried to leave as well, before Frederick grabbed his shoulder. Curse his all-too-long arms!

“George, I really should be getting to class…”

George spoke with an abnormal amount of calmness. “Lafayette, you don’t even _have_ a first period class.” He waited until everyone else had cleared out of the area, and then spoke softly, loosening his grip of him as well. “Listen… I’m so sorry for whatever I did to you last Wednesday, and I know my actions weren’t okay, and…”

“Why are you apologizing?” demanded Lafayette. “You’ve never seemed sorry about anything you’ve done before.”

Looking to the ceiling and sighing, George continued with his apology. “I feel bad about this one. Like, really really bad.”

Lafayette looked around. “Hey,” he suggested, “do you want to sit down and talk about it?” He gestured to an empty table in the nearby student commons. They both took seats on opposing ends of a circular table.

“Lafayette,” George sighed. “I’ve never told anyone this before, okay? But, as it directly affected you, I probably should.”

“Yes?”

“I have this condition.” he explained, cringing all the way through. If Lafayette told anyone, he was fucked, but he didn’t seem like that kind of guy. “Porphyria. It’s pretty rare.” He gestured around with his hands as he spoke, a protective barrier he’d picked up from his years of acting.

“Anyway, it’s like, a genetic thing, and sometimes it affects my mental health, as in that I can’t really control my actions. I _know_ that’s not really an excuse, but...”

Lafayette leaned back on his chair so that only two of the legs touched the ground. He was slightly perplexed. “Okay...”

“And so,” he continued, “I do shit that’s kind of bad. Well, in this case, _really_ bad. I pressured you into doing… stuff… with me, and…” George couldn’t finish the sentence; he felt too guilty. “I never meant to tell you any of the stuff that I said. It’s never happened before, but I…” He was quickly turning redder than he’d ever been.

“So it’s true then,” Lafayette stated. “Th-that you, euh, have _those sorts of dreams_ about _me_.” He couldn’t look George in the eye any longer, but he knew that he was staring at him.

“Y-y-yeahhhh,” mumbled George. “I get it if you never want to talk to me, or look at me again, or ever forgive me. It’s fine.

“I’m so sorry.”

Lafayette took a deep breath; it was now or never, and even _with_ this apology, he was more afraid of George than anything. He didn’t quite know why, but something about the way he was _so_ confident in his ability to do anything deterred him. It was at this time that Peter Stephen’s words rang in his head over and over, manifesting themselves in the most fundamental part of Lafayette’s consciousness.

‘ _N’oublie pas tes poursuites idéales, Lafayette, ne les oublie pas!’_

“I agree,” he replied, closing his eyes. “I don’t hate you.” This wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the complete truth, either. In Lafayette’s eyes, leaving out blatant sections of the truth was different from flat-out _lying_.

This was it. “In fact, I would like to be that way with you again, at some point, when you are, euh, in a better state of mind.”

George was perplexed. “What?” he asked. “Listen, if you feel like I’m pressuring you again, you should just tell me so. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Don’t… don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to keep a secret. He used to pride himself on his ability to stay out of drama as well, but that had clearly gone up into shit. “As long as _you_ don’t tell anyone that I’m, euh…”

“Don’t you fucking worry, Lafayette,” George reassured. “I was kind of surprised when I found out that you wear one of those binding things…”

“A binder,” Lafayette corrected.

“Or that you’re, you know, _trans_ , but we both have things about ourselves that we don’t want other people to find out.”

“…Yeah,” Lafayette breathed. “So, _euh,_ how has your day been?”

\---

“We’re breaking up,” said Thom, relieved to have the words finally exit his mouth. “We’re over.”

Alexander was alongside him, nodding in solidarity. “I agree,” he said. “This… thing we’ve had kind of overstayed its welcome.” They were in the practice room of the orchestra room, and Alexander was sprawled out across multiple desks while Thom was in the adjoining chair. He figured that nobody would notice if he just said he was going to practice his solo and then didn’t.

He nodded. “Yeah.

“I’m kind of worried.”

Alex looked over. “About what?” he asked as he realized. “Oh, yeah. You’re going to have to tell him someday.”

Shaking his head, Thom replied, “I’m going to be the one who’s going to fuck John over even more, you know? Lafayette told me this, and I already knew it, but now it’s as good as fact. When are you going to tell Laurens?”

“Next time I see him, probably,” Alex shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Thom looked around. “Yeah,” he noted. “I haven’t seen him all day, where _is_ he?” Despite his general disdain for the emotions of others, Laurens was one of the two people who Thom truly, totally cared about. That was a horrible thing to say, wasn’t it?

“I actually don’t know,” Alex admitted. “He usually sends me a text message if he’s absent, which is essentially never, but he didn’t today. I’m starting to wonder if I should be worried.”

“We should be, then,” Thom said in a much more serious tone. “He’s one of the most reliable people I know, so that’s a bit distressing. Give it another day before you get worried.”

“ _God,”_ he muttered under his breath, thinking that Alexander couldn’t here. “ _If he’s gone and done something stupid again I’ll cut his hands off._ ”

Alex chuckled. “You’ll _cut_ _his hands off_?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, hey.” Alex sat up. “That’s not what you said the _multiple_ times when my mouth was wrapped around your dick. I’m just sayin’.”

Thom rolled his eyes. “Is it your job to make me uncomfortable?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“Not my job, per se, but rather a hobby,” retorted Alex. “You have a very inflated opinion of your own self-worth.”

Thom now glared. “Jack of all trades, master of none.”

“Yeah?” By this point, Alex was leaning in perhaps _too_ close to Thom “And how’s your Maccaroni Machine plan going?”

“Good,” Thom grimaced. “It’s _going_ better than your budget reports are, at least.”

“Wanna bet?” At this, Alex awkwardly backed off from his previous position; he wasn’t going to close the distance between their mouths, not this time.

“Sure, I’ll bet that _pretty little_ mouth of yours that you seem to run off without a moment’s notice.” Fuck, Thom was enjoying this.

Alex rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense. I fucking hate you.”

Thom did the same. “The same way you’ve hated me since day two?”

“No, because I _meant it_ this time.” Alex’s words meant something to Thom, and this was evident in the way that he immediately shut up. Knowing that he’d hit the right spot, he continued.

“You’re such a shitty human being, you know? The most inconsiderate person I’ve ever met, and it only took a step outside of your atmosphere to see that.” Alex knew his words were hurtful, but they’d come out more so than he thought they would.

There was no reaction from Thom for a minute, until he finally said, “I know.” He paused. “I don’t like you either, to be honest.” He brushed Alex’s face with the back of his hand, causing him to shiver.

He continued. “You’re the only person who questions me, and I don’t like it. It’s so much of a challenge sometimes… I suppose I deserve it.”

Standing up, Alexander began to pace. “That’s another reason, you see?” He couldn’t fathom _why_ Thom acted the way he did, but it was almost disturbing. “Every. Single. Time. Someone criticizes you, you always just _agree_ with them! I don’t understand you.”

“I never change,” Thom sighed. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, and…”

“Neither do you.” Knowing that he’d struck exactly the right chord, Thom stopped as Alex stopped pacing. “Or at least, from what I’ve known of you.”

“Whatever,” Alexander huffed as he rested a hand against the doorknob of the room. “Let this day mark the anniversary of our rivalry.”

\---

“Hey,” Thom said later that day. “John.” It was only during a passing period, but he savored whatever time they could get together. Once the new semester had started, he seemed to see John less and less every day.

"Hey,” John said quietly. He’d been much quieter as of late, and even Thom seldom knew how to get him to say anything meaningful.

“What’s up?” Thom tried. He tried.

John quietly groaned. “My calculus grade has fallen headfirst into the abyss. What’s up with you?”

“ _Me amas vin_ , _Johanno,_ ” sighed Thom. “You’ve missed a lot of days lately…”

“Quit it with the Esperanto already.”

“Interlingua then.”

 John rolled his eyes, but Thom couldn’t tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. “What’s next, Ido?”

Thom pretended to be hurt by this and clutched his chest as they turned the corner. “John, please, don’t bring me down to that level. Ido fucking sucks. Anyway,” he gestured at the other side of the hall. “I’ll see you later okay?”

“Yeah!” John nodded as he turned the other way. “Of course.”  As he turned around, he muttered, “ _You always say ‘_ I love you’ _but I think you’re just trying to convince yourself_.”

Thom, however, failed to hear anything, and kept walking. When he reached the weird, diagonal hallway, he ran into another familiar face. Was it too late to just start walking quickly the other way again?

He waved awkwardly. “H-hey, Jackie.” John Marshall, who often went by Jackie, was Thom’s cousin who he didn’t like very much. in his opinion, he didn’t have much of a presence either. However, in a twist of fate, he was John’s debate partner, best friend, _and_ they happened to have the same name.

Jackie didn’t like him very much, either. “Thom,” he greeted, however apathetically. “It’s, uh, nice to see you. I don’t see you that often, seems like.” The two had stopped in the middle of the hallway to confront each other. There was tension in the air.

“Yeah,” Thom shrugged. They hadn’t fallen out yet, but they both knew it would come at some point; whereas Thom was an idealist through and through, people like Jackie and John, for that matter, focused far more on reality, which only made for awkward conversations. And, there was one other thing.

“So,” Thom continued. “How’s debate and stuff going?”

Jackie didn’t answer his typical response of “Good.” Instead, he looked at the floor. “Bad,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” Jackie asked, clearly annoyed. “I said, ‘ _bad’_. Last weekend we went three losses.” The bell rang in the background, but neither of them seemed to care.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” replied Thom, scratching his nose. “John wouldn’t tell me how his rounds went.”

“How’d _you_ do at speech last weekend? I didn’t stick around for awards.”

Thom grimaced. “Fourth place. Out of ten.”

Jackie whistled. Thom didn’t like him. “Better than nothing, brother.”

“We’re cousins,” retorted Thom sharply. “Anyway, why’d you lose all of your rounds?”

It was Jackie’s turn to grimace. “John’s speeches were all just terrible. I hate policy.”

Thom cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean that I don’t _like_ debating policy because it’s too technical, and to be frank, I’d like to try Lincoln-Douglas next year because it’s more oriented towards morals.” Yeah, right. As if _Jackie_ could handle _morals_.

Rolling his eyes, Thom said, “No, you idiot, I meant, like, what do you mean John’s speeches were all terrible? He’s never terrible…”

“I don’t know,” Jackie admitted. “He’s been out of it lately. Never wants to come to practice.”

Thom anxiously bit his lip, looking around. Everything only seemed to _add_ to his case that John was clearly unhappy. “Well,” he started, pointing down the hall. “See you later, Jackie.”

“Yeah, see you _later_.” Fuck, it was time to get to class already. He’d be late for French, but that would probably be fine.

As he walked, he sent John a text message, reading, “ _Hey will you come with me to the library after school”._

He then sent Laurens another text, which read, “ _are you sick/ if so, do you need anything? I can hook you up with some sweet DayQuil.”_ It would have to be enough.

Jackie, walking in the other direction, reminisced on his friendship with John and why, oh, why, he had to be with his cousin whom he _hated_. Sure, it wasn’t as if Thom had actually done anything bad to him in his life, but they were like oil and water. They preferred to stay out of each other’s ways, and for the most part, it had worked until _John_ just had to mess it up. He remembered clearly the conversation they’d had two years ago that had led to all of _this_.

He’d been pestering John to just _tell him already, damn it_ , who it was that he’d been obsessed with for the past week or so? He wasn’t usually one to keep anything from Jackie.

And then, John admitted, “I have a crush on your cousin.”

“Yeah?” Jackie probed, slightly taken aback. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it sure wasn’t this. “Which one? Is it Elizabeth? Or Mary? Which one? You _have to tell me_.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Oh, you’re really not going to like it.”

“Don’t leave me hanging. Come _on_.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Who is she? You _know_ I’m not close to any of my cousins, so _please_ tell me.”

“Well…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re _really_ not going to be happy about it.”

“Who is she?”

“N-not exactly a _she_ …” With this, John looked up to see his friend slightly perplexed. He knew that he’d really have it this time. Although he’d never admit it, Jackie was kind of grossed out by anyone who wasn’t a heterosexual.

Jackie looked back at John. “What do you mean?”

“It’s, uh,” he grimaced, “Thomas… Jefferson…”

Not seeming to be taken aback by this at all, Jackie immediately responded, “Ew, why him? You could have picked literally anyone else. Also, you never told me you were, uh, gay.”

“I’m _not_ ,” John protested. “Liking another guy doesn’t make it gay.”

“Good point,” Jackie conferred, even though it was actually a terrible point. “Keep doing you, John. Anyway, there are seven _billion_ people alive today, and you managed to pick the literal worst human being in all of Annapolis? Shame on you!”

John didn’t seem to take the words, “literal worst human being in all of Annapolis” into consideration.

\---

When the day was over, Alex _really_ wasn’t looking forward to the long walk home in the cold, since Laurens wasn’t there. He decided that if worst came to worst, he could ask George Washington for a ride home, but he didn’t want to put him through the trouble. He hadn’t heard from Laurens all day, either, and was beginning to grow concerned.

Right now, he was heading over to where Lafayette liked to sit and read for about fifteen minutes before he had play practice, the small nook in the upstairs hallway. As he approached, Lafayette looked up and slipped his bookmark in between the pages.

“Alex,” he said, clearing some space off on the small, round table. “What brings you here, _mon ami_?”

“What’s the thing you were going to tell me earlier?” Alex asked in return. There was an awful lot of _telling people things_ in this particular friend group.

Lafayette grew a bit uncomfortable, which was unusual for someone like him; although reserved in some rights, he tended to be a fairly open person.

“W-well,” he stuttered, “euh, I should probably actually go to practice now.”

Alex sighed. “No, you don’t.” He gestured at the clock on the facing wall. “We’ve still got ten minutes until three twenty-five. Talk.”

“Fine,” Lafayette said as he gestured to take a seat across from him. That was the same chair he’d fallen asleep in the day when he was coerced into auditioning. How he almost wished he hadn’t!

He leaned in close to the center, facing Alexander, and whispered. “ _George Frederick tells me things_.”

“What sort of things?” Alex asked, albeit loudly. He was shushed by Lafayette.

He tried to think. “ _I forget the, euh,_ wording _he used, but he said he had_ those _sorts of dreams about_ me _.”_

“…Oh.” was all that Alex could manage. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this. “Um, uh, I don’t even know how to react to that.”

“Well, anyway,” Lafayette continued. He was noticeably calmer from his state this morning. “I _let_ him make out with me.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“What?” Alex blinked. He’d been caught off guard completely. “So, um, did you _like_ it?”

Lafayette shook his head firmly. “It was _bad_ , Alex, and really scary. I don’t want to do it again.”

“So, then, what did George talk to you about this morning?”

“It’s kind of bad,” said Lafayette.

“You said that earlier, too.” ‘ _Why the fuck is this my life now?’_ he thought. ‘ _It’s like everyone I know has either had sex with or hooked up with everyone else I know_.’

“Well,” Lafayette gulped. “I said he could do it again… sometime.”

“You’re _kidding_ ,” replied Alexander. “You let someone pressure you into something you didn’t want to do and then made the conscious decision to let them do it again?”

“When you say it like that, I sound bad,” Lafayette commented. “But have _you_ ever been in my, _euh_ , position?”

“I guess not,” Alex admitted. He thought back to all the times he’d done anything with Thom. “Well, actually…”

Lafayette turned around to look at the wall clock. “I should go,” he said, gathering his things together.

Alexander waved. “See you tomorrow, Lafayette.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” As Lafayette turned the corner, he felt some sick feeling rising up within him which he couldn’t quite recognize.

\---

Where was Laurens, though? Thom supposed that it couldn’t be _that_ large of an issue if he hadn’t responded to any texts or calls all day. After all, John did the same for three weeks and he was, uh, as fine as he would _get_ , anyway. However, it was a fairly regular occurrence for John to be fishy about personal matters. Laurens, not so much; he didn’t really _have_ anyone to turn to, but he was essentially a de-facto member of Thom’s family by now. Why _wouldn’t_ he respond to anything.

The clock was nearing midnight, and Thom had called about thirty times before Laurens finally called him back.

“H-Hello?” answered Thom, concerned. “John, I’ve been calling you all day, where are…”

“Thom…as,” his voice came back, slurred and muffled. It sounded as if Laurens was _really_ drunk on something, but he didn’t drink or do any drugs. “It’s a bad time… right now.”

“Hey!” Thom said again sharply, before he had the chance to hang up. “At least tell me where you are!”

From another room, he heard Lafayette weakly call, “ _Thom, shut up.”_ , along with the sound of his mother coming up the stairs. Great.

“Unimportant,” said Laurens. The answer came out clearly, and took Thom aback. He started to grow even more worried, as a thought struck him.

“Y-you’re not, at the hospital, are you?”

“Maybeeeeeee,” replied Laurens, far too casually, before he hung up the phone. Thom tried calling again, but to no avail. It was then that Jane finally entered his room.

“Thomas,” she threatened, her voice stern. “Who could you _possibly_ be speaking to on the phone at this ridiculous hour?”

‘ _Fuck, I don’t even know if he has health insurance, I’m sure he does, actually, because his dad still pays for some stuff, but oh my_ god _, what the-”_

“John Laurens,” Thom sighed, resigned. He was still holding onto his cell phone as if it was conclusive evidence in a crime. His knuckles were turning white.

Jane’s expression softened immediately, her small figure still in the doorframe. “Why? What’s his problem _this_ time?”

“He wasn’t at school today,” explained Thom. “So I called him a lot of times, and he didn’t pick up, and now he _finally_ called me back, and said ‘Hi’, but he sounded really…” Thom tried to think of a word to use instead of “drunk”, because Jane couldn’t know about his experiences with alcohol. “…out of it, and so I asked him where he was, right?”

“Right.”

“He didn’t answer.”

“So, then, where _is_ he?” asked Jane. She hadn’t realized her son had grown so _theatrical_.

“The hospital.” The answer was blunt, but it said enough to make Jane get it. She _was_ a neurosurgeon, after all, and felt a spot of pity for Laurens.

At this point, Lafayette had woken up as well, and clumsily dragged his feet to enter the room. Leaning on Thom’s desk with torpor, he rubbed his eyes, and asked, “ _Qu’est-ce que c’est?_ What is it? Laurens, again?”

Thom rubbed his eyes as well. “He’s in the hospital,” he answered. This seemed to immediately wake Lafayette up.

Jane spoke again. “Do you know _which_ hospital?”, to which Thom shook his head. “Well then,” she said, leaving the room again. “There’s nothing that can be done without the details.”

Neither boy watched, but they both heard her traverse the stairs once again. Lafayette spoke.

“You think he’s okay?” he asked as Thom shook his head again.

“Definitely _not_ ,” he answered with certainty. “We’ve been best friends since elementary school, do you think he would just _hide_ something from me if it was that bad?”

Lafayette opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn’t answer that he’d been hiding something bad as well, so he just stood in silence.

“I guess my mom is right, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it,” Thom continued, closing his door. “Maybe we all just need some sleep. Maybe nothing can be done until tomorrow, after all.”

“I’m not walking all the way back to my room,” mumbled Lafayette as he turned off the lights and crashed into Thom’s bed.

“You can’t just…” Whatever. He was beyond the point of caring at this moment in time.

When they were both almost asleep, Lafayette mumbled, “Thomas, _penses-tu qu’il n’aurait rien?”_

Thom mumbled back, “ _J’espère que oui_.”

\---

The next day was a Tuesday, and the coldest one in the year so far. Not as if there had even _been_ many days, but this was one which actually had Alexander shivering.

“Just… Just twenty more minutes,” he told himself, shoving his hands further into his pockets, even though he knew it would feel like a _lot_ longer than 20 minutes. Where was Laurens? Was he hurt? Surely, he hadn’t gone and…

No. That was too terrible to even _think_ about. Alex figured he was just overreacting; after all, missing two days of school wasn’t something which was _too_ concerning, considering other things. Yes, he must have been overreacting.

He kept walking for about five more until he was honked at by a vehicle that he didn’t even notice passing by. He looked up.

‘ _Ugh_ ,’ he thought for a moment. He recognized that vehicle, but it wasn’t Rita. Drawing closer, however, he almost breathed a small sigh of relief when he knew that he wouldn’t have to walk all the way in the snow.

“ _Jerkferson!_ ” he called, as nonchalantly as he could manage in his mindset. “How the _fuck_ do you know where I live?” Jerkferson, however, didn’t hear. He merely gestured at the backseat of the vehicle through the windshield, as of course Lafayette was shotgun.

It was a good thirty seconds before Alex shoved his things into Thom’s back seat, and muttered again, “How the fuck do you know where I live?”

Thom sighed, that perfect sigh that he’d probably spent hours perfecting to sound like he didn’t care _too_ much. He didn’t even bother to _look_ at Alex, even though Lafayette greeted him with an enthusiastic, “Good morning!”. Jerk. Even though it had only been a day since they’d officially ended things, it seemed as if Thom had started isolating himself again from Alex in that time alone. He’d gone back to the level of pretentiousness that he liked to show to people who didn’t really know him.

“Lafayette _insisted_ that we come get you because, well, you’d have to walk forty minutes in the cold.”

“And how’d you know that Laurens wasn’t coming?”

He grimaced, gesturing for Lafayette to explain. After all, it was his idea, and Laurens sure as hell wasn’t going to tell his boyfriend that he was in the hospital. Even leaving his whereabouts unknown was better.

“Alexander,” Lafayette started. “We, _euh_ , love you very much, at least I do, but there’s something which is a bit, _euh,_ _bad_ that we have to tell you.”

“…Yeah?” asked Alexander tentatively. He’d received the ‘we love you very much _but_ ’ talk earlier in his life a few times, but even so, he never felt prepared for it when it came.

“Well…”

“Cut to the chase.” In Alex’s mind, there was no good news and bad news. It was always the same, after all.

“Laurens in in the hospital,” Lafayette spit out, continuing before Alex had a chance to say anything. “He called us last night and said that he was in the hospital, nothing more, nothing less. From, _euh,_ the sound of it, he received some sort of surgery on the face. We don’t know _where_ , exactly, but he’s okay.”

“ _What?”_ exclaimed Alexander in the small vicinity of the car. “ _My_ Laurens?”

“ _Yeah, which other is there_?” Thom mumbled in a snarky tone before realizing that it was a bad time to be snarky. He collected his thoughts. “Yeah, that’s all anyone really knows. Stay tuned.”

Lafayette punched his arm. “ _Thom!_ Our friend is in need of support! _”_

“Okay,” Alexander said, “okay.” He couldn’t show any emotion. He couldn’t risk making it about himself. In Alex’s mind, it wasn’t the _people_ who mattered. It was the way people interacted with each other in order to create, build, and destroy. He was in a position where he couldn’t create, build, or destroy, and so all that was left was to remain dormant until he fell in a position to spring out of said dormancy.

It was a week before he’d see Laurens again, and another week until anyone learned what, exactly, had went down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my history teacher for thinking that it's cool to Alexander Hamilton fanfiction even though I was too ashamed to tell him the actual plot summary.  
> Cool story: the best day of my life was when me and my lab partner picked up a random book at the library (Observations on the Writings of Thomas Jefferson by Henry Lee IV) and there was an inscription in the cover, so we looked up the signature of the inscription and it turns out that the previous owner of the book was Phillip Richard Fendall II, close correspondent of James Madison and cousin to both Henry Lee IV (the author of the book) AND Robert E Lee.  
> Discussion question: Was Sigmund Freud right that all strong friendships between males contain some homoerotic undertones? How does that apply to the story?


	12. Vixi et Moriar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does it seem to be a rule that everyone named John must suffer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally posted this chapter, there was a serious plot error because it said that Copley couldn't go to University, but in an earlier chapter he said that he got accepted into Halberstadt University. I totally forgot about this.
> 
> Well, instead of just cutting a major portion of this chapter out, I just decided to make him suffer instead and lose his scholarship.

 

                There was a large bandage on Laurens’s face, underneath which there would inevitably form a permanent scar. Other than that, at least, he was fine on the outside. Alexander hadn’t seen him in days, but almost felt intimidated by his new presence when he did. Whatever had happened to Laurens, he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

\---

                Two weeks had passed since then, and now it was February. It was the month of love and snow, the month of reviewing budgets for the year, and the month of stressing over quarter averages. However, it was also the month that Laurens changed, probably forever. He was telling his story to a crowd which consisted of Alexander, Thom, Lafayette, and John, and suddenly, everything seemed to make sense-what had happened, why it happened, and why it mattered.

                “So, uh,” he started. “I don’t know how to put it lightly, but basically, I was mugged by a guy.”

                “ _What?_ ” exclaimed Alex. “You _what?”_

                Laurens shrugged, suddenly _feeling_ the bandage on his face. It was something he’d gotten used to ignoring over a couple of weeks. In fact, it was probably okay to take it off at this point, but there couldn’t be any _risk-taking_ involved. No, he’d take it off today.

                He nodded. “I was _mugged_ by a _guy_ who had a _gun_ ,” Laurens added, spelling out every word. “I was almost stabbed, but as you can see, I only received a cut on my face.” He scratched at the fabric covering the healing wound.

                Thom raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to have a scar across your face for life?”

                “Yeah,” he nodded again, not too concerned about his own appearance. He was more thankful for his life. “You know, at the hospital, doctors said that I was lucky to have escaped with only _this_ ,” he gestured at his visage, “but the other guy’s going to have to pay. He tried to shoot me. I broke his arm and three ribs. Concealed carry is illegal in Maryland, you know.”

                “Is he going to press charges?” asked Thom again. Everything about him- the way he was so _cool_ when Laurens could have _died_.

                Laurens, on the other hand, rolled his eyes uncharacteristically. “Press charges? I don’t really remember the guy’s name, or what he looked like or whatever, but he was the one who slashed my face open first.” He shivered, remembering the way that he’d felt when he reached up to his cheek and felt warm blood there. The man had been waiting around the corner from an ATM for whoever his victim would be. Laurens remembered the man’s leather shoes as they were scuffed with gravel and the terrible sound that came with the first cracked rib. Even now, he had bruises to remind him of it.

                It was probably best not to think about it too much.

                “In any case,” he continued, “I don’t think I’m the same person I once was.”

                Now, Alexander spoke again. “What do you…”

                “Well, I think I’m lucky,” Laurens stated firmly. “Yeah, I _am_ lucky. You know the chances of being _grazed_ by a bullet?”

                “Small,” answered John. He hadn’t spoken the entire time, as if he was afraid to look up into Laurens’s face and see that the world was changing around him.

                “Right. So I decided, ‘if you’re so lucky, Jack, why don’t you make use of it? Why aren’t you an optimist? You’ve already lose everything once, so there’s no point in going back after you’ve already dug yourself out of the hole.” It didn’t really make sense to anyone but him, but if Laurens was happy, then there was nothing else to it. Alexander noted that he picked up a faint Southern accent once he got on a roll with speaking.

                “So,” he continued, “I’m kind of glad that I’m going to have a great scar on my face from now on. After I was left alone, after all, everyone only ignored me. It’s like I wasn’t a person for however many months, but now, here’s something bad that other people can’t take away from me. You can see me around without knowing anything about me, but you can’t see me without _knowing_ that I, John Laurens, tempted fate and lived.”

                Being his usual snarky self, Lafayette muttered, “ _Unless you’re blind_.”

                “Yes,” replied Laurens, grinning. “Unless you’re blind. In which case, you have greater problems, anyway.”

                Alexander shook his head. “Laurens, you idiot,” he said. “You’re my closest friend. Next time you try to die, I will murder you myself.”

\---

                After the day was over, Laurens went back to his small, cozy apartment. Not much had moved in the past couple of weeks; on top of school, he’d been working overtime to make up for the time he missed while he was in the hospital. Today, at last, was some of the first time he’d had purely to himself in a long while. There were clothes and papers draped across virtually every surface in sight, so he decided to put those away first into his closet (a repurposed cupboard). He collected all of the papers he _didn’t_ need, mostly old exams and papers for school, into another bag which he’d have to take into the lobby for recycling at some point. All of this alone took up roughly an hour, but luckily, he wasn’t scheduled to work today. Finally, Laurens decided to take a long, good look at himself in his bathroom mirror.

                The smudged mirror, which Laurens usually didn’t bother with for more than twenty seconds at a time, didn’t capture much of him besides his face, but it would have to do. He cringed when he saw his bandaged face staring back at him, as if part of his visage had merely been erased from reality. He didn’t like it, but he feared that he’d dislike his updated appearance even less. There went any dream of being handsome, flown out the window. Well, if Alexander liked him, it was enough. He wouldn’t _mind_ if Laurens had an ugly scar sweeping across his face… would he?

                “Well, Laurens,” he said aloud to himself. “You can’t delay the inevitable forever.” And slowly, he began to peel the enormous bandage off of his face. It wasn’t that difficult, other than the mental pressure to not do it- shouldn’t hospitals have, I don’t know, tougher bandages to take off? There’s a thought to entertain and maybe take up with healthcare providers…

                Laurens didn’t like the sound of the word “peeling”, but once he stared back into the mirror after the ordeal was over… it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

                He blinked a few times before looking at himself more closely; he looked almost the same as before, except that there was a long, red mark over his right cheek and ending just short of his nose.

                ‘ _Straight as a ruler_ ,’ thought Laurens. ‘ _Hm. Theatrical. I like it_.’ He’d thought that people only received life (and appearance) changing scars in the movies, but here he was. And it wasn’t going to go away.

                ‘ _It’s not going to go away. Might as well like it,’_ he figured. He wanted something that other people couldn’t take away from him, and hey, this was something that couldn’t be taken away.

                The next day, Alexander pulled him aside after their English class, and whispered, “Jack, I know you’re going through a lot of personal stuff right now, but there’s something I have to tell you that’s kind of important, especially for our relationship.”

                Laurens frowned. “Yeah, you can tell me anything, Alex, but can it wait until after school? I have a class to be getting to right now.”

                “Sure.” Alex nodded.

                Later that day, the two decided to go to Laurens’s apartment to talk about stuff because, in Laurens’s own words, “there’s no place like home. I mean, I don’t really consider my apartment to be ‘home’, you know, but at least it’s comfortable. Well, actually I suppose it’s not really ‘comfortable’ either, but you get the point.”

                When the two had settled down, once again at the small ground-level table that was one of Laurens’s three pieces of furniture, Laurens asked, “So what is it you need to tell me? Have you been doing or selling drugs? Because if that’s your problem, I want you to know that it’s okay and no matter what, we’ll both get through it together.” Alex noted that the line sounded almost rehearsed, as if Laurens was just waiting for someone with a drug problem to come into his life.

                “No, why would you even think…?”

                “Okay, okay.” Laurens reached out to gently hold Alexander’s hand, rubbing his rough thumb over Alex’s dry hands. “Are you going through a depressive episode? Because if that’s the case, then I want you to know that everything will be okay and-”

                “Also no.”

                “Have you committed a murder or other serious felony?”

                “No.”

                “Do you have an eating disorder? Or other physical or mental health issue that I should know about?”

                “No. I mean, I have depression, but you already knew that, and it’s not particularly bad right now, anyway.”

                “I’m glad to hear it. I mean, like, not that you have depression, but..”

                “I know what you mean, Jack, don’t worry.”

                 “Good. So, are you moving to somewhere else?”

                “I’m just wondering, but do you have lines prepared for every one of these situations, and if so, are all of them just, ‘it’s going to be fine and we’re going to get through this together’?”

                “Actually,” Laurens paused a moment to think. “I actually don’t for the one about murder or a serious felony, but knowing you, anything’s possible.”

                “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult,” said Alex.

                Laurens shrugged in response. “It is what it is. So, I mean, what else could it possibly be that you have to tell me? Could it be the fact that you had sex with our friend, Thomas Jefferson?”

                Alex blushed profusely, and immediately drew his hand away from Laurens, who had this _terrible_ “I knew it all along” look on his face which Alex didn’t like one bit.

                “So I was right?” he asked.

                “…Yeah, but how’d you, um, know?”

                “I’m not an idiot, Alex,” replied Laurens, “and you’re not exactly the best at keeping your emotions covert. But yeah, if that’s all you needed to tell me, then… well, I have a few questions.”

                “I mean, you’re acting like you’re acting like you’re totally okay with this, and in any case, I have standard enough to not have sex with that son of a-”

                “ _Very decent person!”_ Laurens finished. “You can say what you want about Thom himself, but I’m not about to let you talk shit about his mom, because she took me in for about five months when I would have been homeless otherwise.”

                “I didn’t know that,” commented Alexander. “But you also talk shit about her all the time because she basically neglects her son.”

                “Still,” Laurens insisted, and Alex let him have his way. “Anyway, does John know about this?”

                Alex cringed. “Hopefully not. Don’t tell him.”

                “Yeah, don’t worry…” Laurens said with a more serious expression on his face. “I really, really hope he never finds out that the guy he spent years pining for cheated on him. Also, does Lafayette know about it? Also, like, what’s the furthest you went with that asshole?”

                “I think so, and also, I, um, may have sucked his dick a few times…”

                “How many times constitutes a ‘few’?”

                “Probably around fou… five. Yeah, five.”

                “Within four months of living here? Damn, that’s some _action_.”

                Alexander cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re not the slightest bit upset by this?”

                “Well,” Laurens thought out loud, “I don’t think you’re the type who would cheat on me, and I’m honestly just mostly concerned for other John, because he’s going to inevitably find out, and probably have a major identity crisis.”

                “Yeah…” Alex agreed. “I honestly feel kind of bad for doing this to him.”

                “It’ll be okay for you, at least,” promised Laurens. “Probably. My main concern for my sake is, uh, it’s kind of embarrassing…”

                “I just told you that I sucked your best friend’s dick five times, do you honestly think there’s anything you can’t tell me?”

                “Well…”

                “Come on, Jack. Just tell me.”

                “Well,” Laurens looked away, “I mean, am I at least more good-looking than he is? Or more anything?”

                Alex sighed. “Jack, that’s not that embarrassing a concern. And also, that guy’s only an eight on a _good day_. You used to be an eight,” he said, turning and looking directly into Laurens’s eyes. “But now you look really badass, so you’re a nine and with twice the character. So, in essence, more everything.”

\---

                When Alexander opened the front door to Mulligan Children’s Home, the first sight he saw was Johnny Hancock sitting in the front room, flipping halfheartedly through a magazine. He was wearing the same clothes he’d worn last time Alex had seen him, and overall didn’t look any different. Upon Alex’s entry, he looked up.

                “What are you doing here?” asked Alexander, sitting down on a chair opposite him.

                “Am I not allowed to be?” Johnny returned. “How you been, kid?”

                “Don’t patronize me,” retorted Alex. “Pretty fine anyway, how have you been?”

                Johnny admitted, “Ehhhh, not the best. Between smuggling drugs and trying to keep up with everything outside of that, I’m clocking around five hours of sleep per night. It’s not good for the figure.”

                “What _figure_?”

                “Hey, were you this mean the first time I met you?” He was right. Alexander didn’t know _why_ he was being so damn saucy today, but it was too late to stop now. Furthermore, the way Johnny carried himself just pissed him off.

“So, uh,” He started awkwardly, “do you do anything with your life except for deal drugs? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

“ _Well, then_ ,” Johnny huffed. “I’ll have you know that I also have a _real_ job part time, and other than that, well, you’re right.” He now hung his head. “Nobody else ever questions me, so it’s simultaneously a good _and_ bad change from the usual.”

At that moment, John Singleton Copley walked in the room, brightening up at the sight of Johnny. “Hey!” he exclaimed in a rare show of positive emotion. “how’ve you been, Johnny? Long time no see.”

“You know, the usual sort of stuff,” he replied nonchalantly, gesturing at Alex. “Alex, here, has been giving me a hard time about literally not having a personality.”

“He does that.”

“Hey!” interjected Alexander. “First of all, I never said you literally didn’t have a personality. I just said your personality in itself was bad.”

Johnny frowned in response. “You’re going to have to drop the attitude before you graduate.”

“ _Why are you always like this_?” Copley mumbled, to which both Alexander and Johnny looked at him with accusatory glares. He corrected himself, “I meant _both_ of you. Johnny, you’re too stuck-up. Actually, both of you are, but in totally different ways.”

                “Ever looked in the mirror, Mr. Copley?” retorted Johnny. “You’re as stuck-up as they get. Well, actually, Sam is even worse, but I would probably punch anyone else if they said that.”

                “Shut _up_ ,” he replied bitterly, letting go of their petty argument for the moment. “Anyway, how’s he doing?”

                “Has everyone met this guy but me?” wondered Alex out loud, which was met with a unanimous, “yes.”

                Johnny then said to Copley, “Well, you know, he went to jail and stuff, so I’d say not too great. My main concern is that he’ll get expelled from Harvard if administration find out about it.”

                “Damn, I didn’t know he got arrested,” commented Copley. “For what?”

                “A lot of things, namely organizing and participating in protests. I bailed him out, though, so it should be fine for now. I just hope I don’t get arrested at this point, because that’s multiple drug felonies.”

                “ _You idiot_!” he exclaimed as he smacked the side of Johnny’s head. “You can’t just _talk_ about dealing around other people. That’s the first rule of being a successful dealer.”

                “So, uh,” Johnny changed the subject. “How’s your protégé doing? Is he still as obsessed with you as before?”

                “He’s not obsessed with me,” Copley sharply returned. “And well, for your information. He’s been involved with Ben West, who also got into Oxford.”

                “Oxford!”

                “Yeah, Oxford.” Although he would never have admitted it, Copley was extremely jealous that Ben West had the resources to go to school in Cambridge, while he would be able to go to college if he was lucky, and even so would probably graduate with years of debt.

                “You sound bitter.”

                “I’m not bitter!” he said, perhaps too quickly to sound convincing. He then said to Alexander, “Maybe you should go.”

                Standing up, he replied, “Yeah, I was actually just going to… If anyone asks where I am, tell them I went to the library,” and then left.

                Copley rested his head in his arms, and said, “I’m just upset, Johnny.”

                “I know this isn’t the time for snide remarks,” he replied, “but I seriously doubt there’s ever been a time in your life where you haven’t been upset.”

                “I told Alex to get the fuck out because I’m supposed to be the older male friend who gives advice and shit, so I can’t be _weak_ around him.”

                “ _John_ ,” Johnny said in a calming tone. “can you at least tell me what you’re so angry about?”

                “Well,” started Copley, “You know how I said I wasn’t bitter about the fact that Ben West is studying art at the damn Ruskin?”

                “You’re bitter about it, aren’t you?”

                “Yes,” he breathed. “You wouldn’t even… the fact of the matter is that, not to be a braggart, but I just possess more talent than a _lot_ of other people, but I can’t go to university, because I don’t have any connections and I also don’t have any money. It’s _so_ unfair that I have to live in the United States, where people are conditioned to not care about art, and I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life in this piece of shit hell city Annapolis, or maybe New York or Philadelphia if I’m _lucky_ , because the artist is inherently less than the engineer or the doctor, right? Not that I could even be either of those things, because, you know, I can’t fucking afford to go to university in the first place, because yeah, I was really excited that I got into the art program at fucking god damn Halberstadt University, but then I managed to lose my scholarship over a technicality. You know William Johnston?”

                “I’m afraid I don’t.”

                “He died. Two years ago. He was a close friend, even though he was five years older than I was. Sudden illness. Could have been easily treated, but as he was a musician, he couldn’t pay for healthcare. Before he died, he asked me to send him a portrait I made of his sister.”

                “You’ve never talked to anyone about his death, have you?”

                “…No.” Despite himself, Copley kept a straight face with his perpetually cold eyes. “I haven’t. But it makes me think about the fact that I’m either going to die unsuccessful, doing what I loved, or the alternative.”

                “Hey,” Johnny said softly. “I’m sure you’re overthinking it. I mean, there are dozens of Johns in this world. We’re _both_ named John. There are more Johns in this singular storyline than I can count on one hand, you know?”

                “Where are you going with this?”

                “But _John Singleton Copley_ ,” he continued, “that just sounds like a name cut out for success, you know? I’m sure you’re overthinking everything.”

                “That’s fucking stupid,” said Copley, even though he was clearly starting to feel better about himself.

                “Is it really that fucking stupid? I mean, you’re also, like, crazy talented, so I honestly don’t think you’re going to spend the rest of your life living in this piece of shit hell city, or even Baltimore, for that matter. So fuck it, you can be successful without college, I mean, the days are over when a degree means instant success.”

                “I guess you’re right,” he sighed, trying to convince himself that optimism could sometimes work. “Fuck Oxford.”

                “Yeah, _fuck_ that _other_ school in Cambridge.” Noticing the anticlimax of their conversation, Johnny followed up with, “I should probably get going.”

                “Yeah,” said Copley. “I’ll see you around later, maybe?”

                “Yeah, maybe.”

                Yeah, right. Copley had always been pessimistic; he was pessimistic in his future, in the future of art, and in those around him, and in what other people would think of him, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Even so, he still felt _slightly_ better about everything. Johnny was about ninety percent talk, after all, but the other ten percent was as genuine as he knew anyone else to be. Now, it was only a matter of waiting to see which ten percent of whatever he said would come true.

                And even though Copley was, well, _Copley_ , he considered himself to be one of the only realistic people he had ever known, which he was sure that other people saw in him as well, because he was known for giving advice to other people; however, in this moment in time, the advice he gave to himself was to just listen to whatever Johnny was saying. He wasn’t entirely sure whether being a successful artist without any money, connections, or higher education was realistic, but another piece of advice he often gave to people which he had yet to follow himself was to “live in the moment”, and, well, if there was ever a good time to start following it, it was now.

\---

                Well, today was the day, John decided. Today was the day that he would finally, officially come out to his family, namely his extremely Protestant father who probably would hate him. He’d done a math problem about it, actually, where he graphed systems of equations to see _how_ angry, exactly, he would become, but math problems weren’t everything, right? (The result of the graph was “extremely, extremely angry. John had deluded himself, briefly, into not believing numbers when he saw them.) And, well, this was the moment. He was standing in John, Sr.’s lovely home office, there was no backing out of anything now, he accepted his own death, he couldn’t be afraid of the consequences at a point when there was nothing but consequences left.

                He ground his teeth together in nervous anticipation. “H-hey, dad? There’s something I have to tell you. It’s kind of, uh, important…” Okay. He was a _little_ afraid.

                “What is it, John?” John, Sr. asked calmly. His voice was cold but it wasn’t enough of a change from the ordinary for John to be concerned.

                “Well…”

                “Spit it out.”

                “Y-you’ve met my _friend_ Thomas, right?”

                “What about it? Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in with the sort of people who do drugs and lie.”

                “What? No!” John shook his head. “I don’t know how you could even… whatever.” He took a deep breath. “Well, he’s not exactly my _friend_ …”

                John, Sr. appeared to be concerned for his son. “Don’t tell me that this boy bullies you or anything? Because you’re going to have to deal with your own weakness yourself.” He frowned. “Survival of the fittest, you know this.”

                Cringing, John replied, “Not really like that.”

                “What is it, then?”

                John then decided to just get it over with, because this conversation was too long and too awkward for him to stand it anymore. “He’s not my _friend_. I’m dating him. He’s my _boyfriend_.”

                After taking a long, painful moment to process the information, John, Sr. quietly asked, “How long has this been going on?”

                “I mean…”

                “I asked you a question, John.”

                “Do my Miranda rights apply here? Because I really don’t…”

                John, Sr.’s voice began to take on a menacing tone. “Don’t even think about trying to get smart with me, son.”

                “A few months now,” John automatically replied.

                “Yes, but since _when_?”

                “November, I guess?” he lied. He knew that a lot of shit was coming his way, and telling the truth wouldn’t help him anymore.

                “You guess.”

                “Yes.”

                “Uh- _huh._ ” John felt his heart sink to his knees when his father got up and closed the door.

                “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,”_ he mumbled under his breath. This was where it got _bad_.

                “Be thankful your mother’s not home,” John, Sr. muttered to John as he gestured for him to have a seat. The chair was comfortingly comfortable; at least this wouldn’t be wholly terrible for John.

                John, Sr. closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead before abruptly asking, “Have you been having sex with this boy?” in another threatening tone of voice.

                “What? No!” John lied again.

                “I don’t believe you,” spat out John, Sr. He stood up and walked over to his son. “That’s _disgusting_ , you probably have HIV now, I don’t even know what I’m going to do with you.”

                John spent all of his energy focusing on the dark red carpet, a small tear forming in the corner of his eye. ‘ _Don’t fucking cry now, John.’_ He thought. ‘ _God, this is bad, this is so bad.’_

                “I don’t have an STD, okay?” he cried. “I’m not going to die from AIDS, and we haven’t done anything like that, anyway, for your information. Can I please just leave?”

                “Shut up,” interrupted John, Sr. John couldn’t exactly make out the expression on his face, but it was one of combined anger and disgust.

                He barely had time to flinch when he felt his father’s cold, heavy hand hit the side of his face. Feeling the spot where his wedding ring had definitely left a bruise, he knew that there was a lasting red impression.

                “You shameless whore!” John, Sr. roared. This was the first time that John had ever seen him get _this_ irate at anyone. “I can’t believe that you’re the disappointment I passed my namesake down onto. It was a mistake, I tell you, it was a damn mistake. I never would have married your mother if I knew…” He regretted those words the second they came out of his mouth.

                “Hang on, hang on, hang _on_ ,” John hissed as he stood up as well, deciding that fuck whatever became of their relationship. “Enlighten me, _what_ did I ever do wrong to you? You always tell me, you know, that there’s nothing I can’t tell either you or mom, but the moment I do, you spring _this_ on me? The moment I try to tell you what’s going on my life you come and tell me that you wish I was never born? That’s pretty messed up.” He blinked tears out of his eyes, letting them hit the carpet. This wasn’t a _debate_. This was a heated, emotional argument, and there wasn’t time for definitions or formalities. This was too raw for any of it. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t want me to be a part of your family anymore and disown me?”

                “That’s taking it a step too far,” interrupted John, Sr. He knew he’d gone past the point of no return. “I’m just saying that you should stop being a _fag_ if you want to get anywhere or be loved by _anyone_ other than your, uh, ‘boyfriend,’” he said in a mocking tone, and then on a more serious note, “I’m telling you for your own good, that if this continues, you’re going to spend an eternity in hell damned with whoever taught you that it’s okay to act like this.

                “Is it your good-for-nothing delinquent cousin?” he continued, not stopping to think about what he was saying before he said it. “That waste of resources who got himself rightfully thrown in jail?”

                John blinked. “You mean your nephew?” he retorted. “You mean your nephew, whom you willingly fostered for years? Don’t bring him into this.” He waved his finger in a circle to refer to _this_ as their argument. He knew he’d struck the right chord when he saw John, Sr. take a step back.

                “And you know what?” asked John again, laughing incredulously despite himself. “I just realized, there’s no reason for me to believe in an institution which imposes upon me a god who doesn’t even care for my existence.”

                “ _What?”_ John had just made it worse again by renouncing Christianity to his fundamentalist protestant father. There was no further damage that could be done, or so he thought.

                “That’s right,” he continued, taking deep breaths. “And if there is one, I will _face god and walk backwards into hell_.” He didn’t remember what he was quoting, but it felt right, so he said it.

                This was too much for John, Sr. This was too much. This was too much. This was too much. He took a few steps backwards, and said very calmly, “Just leave, John.”

                John began to walk out of the office, turning around and not looking back. Then he heard John, Sr. follow up his command by saying, “No, I didn’t mean just _leave_. I mean, get the fuck out of my house.”

                He felt the tears start again as he walked out of the room, and roughly grabbed his coat off of the hook by the back door. He wasn’t sure if John, Sr. really _really_ meant what he had said or not, but for his own sake, he wasn’t staying here any longer. As he felt in the pockets to see if he at least had any money, he felt a small wad in his right hand. It would have to be enough. He then spent a minute to put on two pairs of socks and his shoes before loudly exiting and slamming the door shut.

                “Fuck,” he mumbled as he walked away from his house on the sidewalk. “I didn’t realize that it was so cold outside.” He was right; it was snowing, and he didn’t have anything to protect him from the cold other than his pants, a tee-shirt, and his coat. Shivering, John made the decision to walk to John Marshall’s house because it was only thirty minutes away walking, he was on the right path to begin with, and it was somewhere warm where he knew he’d be welcome, or so he hoped. He didn’t have his cell phone on him, which may or may not have been a bad thing, but it was too late at this point. Thankfully, however, he’d decided to wear his large and clunky tortoiseshell glasses this morning instead of contact lenses, which at least somewhat protected his face from the onslaught of flurries and raging wind.

                Pulling the wad of cash out of his pocket, John also decided that it would be a good idea to count how much he actually had, both to distract himself and for convenience.

                ‘ _What do I have?’_ he thought. ‘ _Maybe ten dollars? That would be fine.’_ However, he caught sight of a note on the first dollar bill he saw, which read, “There’s probably like 200 here. IDK I figures you would need it more than I do in case you get kicked out of the house or something. Sorry.” It was written in Peter’s hasty scrawl, which almost brought a smile to John’s face.

                ‘ _You’re the real MVP, Peter_ ,’ he thought. As the wind picked up, he remembered that it was very well a possibility that he would contract frostbite if he didn’t make it somewhere warm on time, and picked up the pace.

\---

                John nervously rang the doorbell to Jackie’s house, breathing into his hands to make them warm up from their numb state. He looked at the grey sky and glanced around for a minute before his mother, M. K., finally answered the door.

  1. K. was perplexed as she opened the door, not expecting her son’s best friend to be there. “Hi… John. Is there any particular reason you’re… here today?” It wasn’t an abnormal occurrence for him to stop by without previous notice, as John had almost become a member of their family throughout the years of the two boys being friends; however, she certainly didn’t expect him to show up at her doorstep looking like a wreck in fifteen-degree weather.



                “My dad kicked me out of the house,” John explained. “Can I, uh, stay here until my mom gets off of work… or something? Because I really don’t want to go back alone.” He was slightly embarrassed saying this, but it was impossible to tell because his face was red from cold anyway.

  1. K. furled her eyebrows. “Of course, John, I’m glad you’ve decided that our home can be a safe place for you…” She frowned, taking a closer look at the boy and gently ran her finger over the red mark on his face. “Sorry…” she said, stepping aside to let John enter the building.



                “No… it’s fine.” He took his shoes off at the front door, and then his wet, uncomfortable socks. He began to shiver uncontrollably.

                “Wait here,” M. K. instructed, and came back a minute later with five blankets and a cup of hot water. John was sitting on the loveseat in their front room “You walked all the way here in below-freezing weather in a skimpy jacket and canvas shoes?”

                “Y-y-yeah,” John stammered, drinking the hot water. It burned his throat, but he could care less about it. It was _warm_ , which was all that mattered. “B-bad idea, wasn’t it?”

                At that moment, John Marshall made the decision to enter the room, saying, “Mom, who was it at the…” He stopped his sentence when he saw John under the five blankets and cradling a cup. “John, why are you here? You look like a wreck.”

                “ _Jackie_ ” M. K. scolded. “We’re not rude to people who come to us for help.”

                “No, it’s fine,” John commented. “Anything more polite and I may actually have been concerned.” He could speak normally and had regained most of the feeling in his extremities now, which he thought may have been a good sign.

                Jackie looked remarkably like his mother; he furled his eyebrows in the same way, bearing a striking resemblance to M. K. when she had done the same, and asked, “Are you okay? You’re here for help? You walked here? What happened? Are Peter and Elihu and-” He had the tendency to ask an overabundance of questions at the same time, which was why he always did the cross-ex during debates. He briefly thought of yesterday’s debate meet, which had been so good (second place!) that he couldn’t imagine that something _bad_ would happen on the next day.

                John cut Jackie off, knowing that he’d go on to ask about ten more questions before he was done. “I was kind of, uh, kicked out of the house. I’m fine now, though, probably, maybe. You remember when the same thing happened to Laurens?”

                Jackie nodded; however, M. K. asked, “Who’s John Laurens and what happened to him?”

                John didn’t see a point in lying about it to M. K. After all, he was expecting her to help him. “His dad disowned him because he’s gay.”

                “Oh!” M. K. exclaimed. “I mean, were you… for the same…”

                Cringing, John answered, “Yyeaahhhh… I mean, I can leave if you- ” He didn’t finish his sentence, for which he was glad, because this conversation was awkward and he didn’t want to be having it with his friend’s mom.

  1. K. shook her head. “I don’t condone that sort of lifestyle, but no way in _hell_ am I, as a parent, putting you on the street again. It doesn’t matter what I believe, that’s just the fundamentally wrong thing to do.” John breathed a sigh of relief, before asking, “also, if you don’t mind, can I please use your telephone to call my mom? I left my cell phone at home.”



                “Of course!” As she left to go find a landline phone (they always seemed to disappear around this house!), Jackie talked to his friend.

                “I’m sorry, John,” he said. “I know I’m not him, but I’m sorry that my asshole cousin ruined your life, or at least your relationship with the rest of your family.”

                “Don’t apologize,” said John. “Nobody is at fault here, besides maybe me, because I _knew_ that something bad would happen if I told him and it happened anyway. Also, my dad now thinks that I’m going to die of HIV, that I’m an underage prostitute, that I’m going to hell, and I also probably do drugs or something.”

                “ _Your love is my drug,”_ Jackie whispered. He knew that it probably wasn’t the appropriate thing to say, but it solicited a small shove and a “shut up” from John, which was a good sign.

                When M. K. finally returned with a landline phone, John murmured a small thank you and immediately dialed his mother’s phone number.

                “ _Hello? Mary Keith? How are you doing?”_ Susanna asked when she picked up from her end of the phone.

                John took a deep breath. “Hey… Mom… actually it’s me, John, your _son_.” He put an emphasis on the word “son” because he thought it would help. “You’re not going to believe what happened.”

_“Should I be worried?”_

                “Dad kicked me out of the house,” he answered immediately. “So, probably? He told me to ‘get the fuck out of his house’, so I left, and came here.”

                “Oh my god. I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” she said in a shocked tone before abruptly hanging up.

\---

                John could hear his parents shouting at each other from all the way across his house, and he didn’t know whether to feel justified or just afraid for the sake of himself.

                “He’s our son,” he could hear his mother say, even through a series of hallways and locked doors.

                “He’s our son, but he’s also a disgusting whore who’s probably addicted to heroin.”

                “Are you even listening to yourself? How can you even stand behind what you’re saying?”

                “Listen, Susanna, I’m telling you that if I knew our offspring would be such a failure, I never would have gotten married to you.”

                Susanna remained silent for a moment, before she said very calmly and firmly, “If I knew you were so fucked up, I wouldn’t have married you, either.” Before John, Sr. could get another word in, she continued by saying, “I’ve been thinking about it for a long, long time, but this is the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

                “What are you saying?”

                “Listen, John, I want a divorce.” There was a deep, pregnant pause after Jane had finished her sentence.

                If, at that moment, someone had asked John what he thought of the situation, he would have merely answered that he had no idea how he’d so successfully managed to make his entire life fall apart since October of last year.

                If in the distant future, however, someone asked him to dwell on that exact moment of time, he would have stated that it was one of the two defining moments of his adolescence.  The other one wasn’t too far off, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter on Saturday instead of Sunday because I'm in Philadelphia (!!!) where Peter Stephen Du Ponceau, Charles Willson Peale, and Benjamin Franklin lived and also where the Continental Congresses and Constitutional Convention took place so I think it is fate that I also finished this chapter today.
> 
> ALSO: If you're ever in need of something to read, I HIGHLY recommend [The Autobiography of Peter Stephen Du Ponceau](https://www.docdroid.net/8dKbh0e/29513-29352-1-pb.pdf.html), because he is a person worth remembering, who, unfortunately, is all too often forgotten by history. He is also my hero.
> 
> Discussion question: Is it John's fault that his life sucks?


	13. Sex, Drugs, and the NSDA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, we were both backstage, and by this point it was about five minutes after you left and nobody was actually still in the auditorium but a few people were still outside, but you get it. So he says to me, ‘Lafayette’, in that really shitty voice of his, you know, and says, ‘listen I’m really proud of you especially since this is the first play you’ve been in in English and I’m so glad that I had to opportunity to work with everyone...’ but like, this bitch almost fucking starts crying, right?”
> 
> Laurens had no idea where Lafayette learned all of these words, but he wasn’t ready to step in front of Lafayette’s train of rage. “…Right.”
> 
> “So then he says to me, ‘Sorry if this is a bad time, but would you mind if I kissed you?’ and of course I want to say, ‘no, you creep, get away from me because I really don’t like you’ but what am I supposed to do? So of course I say yes, and-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fact: Charles Willson Peale actually did live in Annapolis, where he taught painting to his younger brother, James Peale.

                By chance (actually not so _chance_ , John studied in the library after school every day), one day, Thom happened to be studying in the library after school at the same time as John

“John,” he greeted. “How are you doing? It seems like I haven’t seen you in a while.”

                “I literally saw you yesterday,” retorted John, “like 3 times, if not more.”

                “It doesn’t count,” Thom insisted. “I only said like one thing to you.”

                “In any case, one day doesn’t constitute a ‘while’, okay?”

                “So I’m assuming that you’re not doing great.” He sighed, because John never seemed to be direct with how he felt, almost as if he always had something to hide about himself. Sometimes, finding the right words to say to him felt like trying to guess if glassware was hot or not; in other words, damn near impossible. John, however, always seemed to know the right words, but never the right time or right order to say them.

                “What gives you that impression?” John looked up, directly into Thom’s eyes. He looked away.

                “I don’t know,” Thom replied, even though he knew exactly what. “You’re usually not this direct, or cynical, even.”

                “Are you calling me cynical?”

                “This is what I mean!” Thom exclaimed. “I don’t want you to be sorry for your actions, or whatever. I just want you to be _okay_. And, like, not unhappy.”

                “What are you saying?” John demanded. “I’m acting different, or something, right?”

                “Listen, you haven’t really been acting, well, _normal_ since January.”

                John sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been kind of a bitch recently, but I just… have had a lot of shit going on. I’m not trying to use it as an excuse, but…” he groaned loudly and exasperatedly. “There’s school, and districts and sectionals are coming up really soon, and not to mention model UN, and my mental health hasn’t been the best lately, and my parents are getting divorced, and I’m really worried for Peter because he’s been under a lot of stress and hasn’t been taking it well, and, to top it off, my asthma has been getting really bad.”

                “I’m sorry. Is there anything _I_ can do for you?”

                John shook his head. “Just don’t stop taking me places.”

                ‘ _What does that even mean?’_ Thom thought. ‘ _Don’t stop taking me places? I mean, we’ve gone out loads of times before, but nowhere outside of Annapolis, where we live, even though he’s technically from Massachusetts and I am technically from Virginia? Whatever. I’ll just go with it.’_

                “I love your brother. Peter’s so cool,” he commented. “We should get turnt with him sometime.”

                Despite himself, this made John laugh. “We’re _not_ getting turnt with my thirteen-year-old brother. I thought you were above doing drugs with a middle-schooler. In fact, I’ll text him that you said that.”

                “Do _not_.” A moment later, John received the text from Peter, “ _Ya im gna smoke those sweet fatass dank kush blunts w ur bf I wud get turnt w thom but not w u sry duder.”_

                As Thom laughed about this response, John whispered, “ _I hate him_.”

                “Anyway,” Thom changed the subject, “speaking of _going places_ , John, I was actually wondering: do you want to go to Philadelphia with me some day? I mean, not even as a rendezvous (Thom hated the word ‘date’), but, you know, just a day to get out of Annapolis?”

                “What’s the occasion?” John tried to raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t know how to, so he ended up lowering one of his eyebrows instead to get the same effect across.

                “I don’t know,” replied Thom, even though he obviously did know. “I had to drive Lafayette up, because he wants to meet Peter Stephen or Pierre Etienne, or whatever he calls himself because I’ve heard Lafayette call him both and I’m really-not-sure-at-this-point-what-he-goes-by-and-I’m-too-afraid-to-ask-because-I-don’t-want-to-look-dumb-that’s-not-really-the-point… Anyway! Other John also has some errand to do so I figured I would just take him as well because it’s more convenient, and then I realized that that leaves me the entire day, in Philadelphia, without anything to do.”

                “And you want me to come with you?”

                ‘Well,” shrugged Thom. “You seem as if you could, you know, use a day off. Also, it would be during Spring break so you wouldn’t have to worry about catching up on work or anything.”

                “We both have speech practice every day of the week before districts,” John pointed out. There was no reasoning with John once it came to the National Speech and Debate Association. He knew the rules of every event, not only Policy, by heart, including Robert’s Rules. “Come on, District Congress is already over and I only qualified as an alternate,” he raised his voice slightly as he said “alternate”, “and if I don’t qualify with Policy, well, then I’d have to do US extemp and I’m just awful at USX.”

                “So?”

                “No.”

                “Come on,” Thom coaxed. “You’re going to need to take a break someday, or you’re not going to be able to do well at districts.” He tried to think. “It’s like, when you play a piano piece so, so many times that you can’t play the individual right hand or left hand parts anymore, and everything sounds like a mess.”

                John refuted, “I don’t even _play_ piano, Thom, and I don’t think that you can make an analogy of debate with piano-playing. This is why you failed at Lincoln-Douglas. Because of your analogies.”

                Thom looked into the imaginary camera like he was on _The Office_. “Not everything is about formal discourse.”

                “Okay, fine,” John admitted, “maybe you’re right about that, but I still, really, really, really want to go to Nationals! In Salt Lake City! You know that the building where they’re hosting Nationals is right across from the Mormon headquarters?”

                “Really?”

                “And then the year after that, it’s Birmingham, Alabama, because the NSDA is notorious for choosing ridiculously hot cities in the summer.”

                “Do you know everything about the NSDA?”

                “Kind of.”

                “You need a break,” Thom insisted. “Let my loser cousin work on contentions for, like, one day.” When he said, “loser”, he was definitely being sarcastic. Definitely.

                “Absolutely not.”

                “I’ll make out with you at Independence Hall.” When John didn’t argue for a moment, he knew that he’d struck the right chord. “So is that a yes?”

                “How did you know I’ve always wanted to make out with someone at Independence Hall?” The way John said this was almost accusatory.

                “I actually just assumed because you’re a fucking nerd who would probably be into that,” Thom said. “I bet the founding fathers were actually super gay for each other.”

                “Fine. I’ll come with you,” John finally agreed, “but only if you also make out with me at the Maryland State House.”

                “Deal.”

\---

                That day, there was an announcement during the weekly school assembly, there was an announcement for the school play, _The Night Thoreau Spent In Jail_. Alexander admitted that he’d completely forgotten about the fact that there _was_ a school play, and furthermore, that Lafayette was in it. Wasn’t it, like, a month ago that George Washington said that he really needed club budget reports because the play was _next week_? If further pressed on the matter, he would claim that he’d only said that because he wasn’t used to people getting things _done_ for the student council on time, so added pressure usually was a good thing. In any case, Alex had gotten them in ahead of time, three days before they were due, and hadn’t heard anything about another meeting since.

                Anyway, after the assembly was over, Alexander found Lafayette and asked, “Hey, you’re in the play, right?”

                “Yes,” Lafayette answered, with a subtle brush of pride. “I’m both Bailey and Edward Emerson.”

                “Should I come and see it?”

                Lafayette grinned. “I’m inclined to say _yes_ , but that’s likely a biased answer, but in any case you definitely should come see it. Bring your friends, and stuff.” Alex stifled a small laugh. “What is it?” he asked, but Alex tried to brush it off.

                “It’s nothing,” he answered. “It’s just that the really long sentence you just said sounded exactly like something that Thom would say and I thought it was a bit amusing.”

                “That is amusing, isn’t it?” he wondered aloud. “Anyway, I’ve got a class this period, so I’ll see you later!”

                “Yeah, see you around.” Alex figured that if anyone, he would probably bring Charles to see the play with him because he was a fan of the arts, right?

                His next class was orchestra where he’d worked his way up to level four music theory from level one which was a remarkable achievement in itself, because music theory was difficult even for James Madison. However, Alex had found his groove in beaming notes and rewriting pieces in 6:8 time because it was systematic and he found systematic work to be relaxing compared to the alternative. If anything, he even enjoyed Spanish worksheets and standardized tests for this very reason. There wasn’t much in Alex’s life which was systematic, and if there was, then he might as well enjoy it.

                Which was another reason that he hated being part of a social circle where he couldn’t predict anything. There was no way to tell what _would_ and _wouldn’t_ happen. In New York, even given that Alex didn’t have many friends (much less _memorable_ ones), he could always seem to tell what people were going to say or do next. Here, it was like a challenge.

\---

                Inside, although he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself, Lafayette knew that he was only making things more difficult for everyone. He didn’t care… that much. After all, he knew that whatever happened between his circle of Americans friends, nobody would blame him for anything he did. Was that a bad thing to take advantage of? After all, it wasn’t like he had done anything with explicit mal intent, but it felt like it sometimes? Was Lafayette in the wrong about anything? Hell if he knew.

                And that was why, since that night that Laurens had spent in the hospital, Lafayette had slept with Thom in his bed every day. It wasn’t a sexual thing. At all. Or a romantic thing. It was just a sort of we-are-more-then-friends-but-not-in-a-weird-way thing, but for some reason, it felt both inherently wrong and bad but too good to pass up. He enjoyed feeling wanted and cherished, but not in a way that just made him feel gross, or even worse, used. Was Lafayette in the wrong to feel this way? He preferred to not give it more than the minimum amount of thought possible, but lord, when John found out, that would be bad.

                He decided to not think about it.

                “Thom,” he whispered one day, “I think you’re the only person who really loves me.”

                ‘ _Ha ha fuck,’_ thought Thom. ‘ _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.’_ “I mean, I love you, Lafayette, so much, but what makes you think that?”

                “I don’t know,” breathed Lafayette even though he actually did know. “I think that my entire family thinks of me as an investment, even though there’s not that many of them left, and none of my friends in France save for Monsieur Beaumarchais have even _tried_ to contact me in like three months, so, yeah.”

                “What about Adrienne?”

                “I’ve only actually met her a few times, you know. She sent me a letter a few weeks ago.”

                “Have you sent her one back?”

                “No, not yet. I want to savor it.” Lafayette took a deep breath. “Oh, and Napoleon also sent a letter about a week ago.”

                “Who’s Napoleon?” asked Thom. It was unusual for Lafayette to mention someone new, because there was close to nothing that the two had never actually discussed.

                Lafayette stifled a groan. “I like to pretend he does not exist sometimes. He is a year below me in classes, but we both have the common, _euh_ , experience of passing the BAC early.”

                “Which BAC did he take? And you took the BAC ES, right?”

                “BAC S,” Lafayette answered, “and _ouais_.” His entire situation was a bit, uh, unusual. Lafayette had been privately tutored for most of his life, which allowed him to accelerate in his studies faster than any of his peers. For this reason, he’d been able to pass the BAC, the final, ridiculously intensive exam for French high schoolers, a year early and take the other year to do this exchange program. Lafayette had passed the BAC _ES-_ Baccalauréat Économique et Sociale- with marks _Très Bien_ , 18 out of 20. Next year, in due course, he was to begin the two years of preparatory school needed to attend one of the _Grandes Écoles_.

                He continued, “He’s an interesting guy, but also kind of terrifying at times. Really very smart, but also socially isolated because he’s so _young_ , probably fifteen, and passed the damn BAC S.” Right. Sometimes Thom forgot that Lafayette was a year older than he was; something about him just seemed, well, fragile, even though he wasn’t because he slapped really, really, _really_ hard and didn’t hesitate to exhibit this talent when it was necessary.

                “You think I’ll meet him at some point?”

                Even though Thom couldn’t see it, Lafayette rolled his eyes. “I think he’s nearly impossible to miss, honestly. By the way, you should definitely come see _The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail._ ”

                “Wouldn’t dream of missing it.” And then, as gently as he was able to, Thom kissed the back of Lafayette’s neck. Lafayette pretended to not notice, but he actually enjoyed it... just a bit. Unlike all the times that George Frederick had done the same thing.

                And speak (or think) of the devil! Thom said, “Just don’t let Frederick fuck you over, okay? He likes to do that to people, especially George Washington, who hates me for some reason.” He felt Lafayette tense up in his arms, his breathing and heart rate both going faster. _Fuck_. How did Thom know about that? He hadn’t told him, or anything, right? If there was ever a good moment for telling him, now was probably it.

                “Haha, yeah…” Lafayette nervously stammered, albeit quietly. “Him _fucking me over_. Can you imagine?”

                “You’re acting weird, did I trigger you or something?” Thom, because he was an asshole, thought the entire concept of ‘triggering’ was kind of funny, but he meant it seriously this time.

                “Too late!” he exclaimed, as quietly as one could exclaim something.

                Slightly loosening his grip around Lafayette, Thom calmly asked, “What are you even talking about? Him fucking you over? No- don’t tell me you actually fucked that guy, Lafayette.”

                “Well, I didn’t actually _fuck_ him or anything, so it’s really not _that_ big of a deal.”

                “You idiot! What are you going to do about it?” Thom took to gently stroking Lafayette’s arm, even though he _had_ just called him an idiot.

                Lafayette defended himself. “I was scared, okay? And anyway, it’s not as if I have to see him again after two months or so. I will be fine.”

                “I suppose you’re right. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt or anything.” After another minute of silence, Thom asked, “Wait, so what are the details? Does he know that you’re trans>”

                “Thom, you’re a messy bitch who lives for drama.”

                “I know.”

                “But, _euh_ , so, what happened was that one time he was driving me home and he said that he has _erotic_ dreams about me and from there it escalated. And yeah, he knows, alright.” In that moment, Lafayette chose to be a decent person and not tell anyone that Frederick had confided in him to keep secret: that he _did_ have porphyria.

                “Wow.”

                “Is that all you have to say? Just ‘wow’?”

                “I don’t know,” Thom commented, “that just kind of reminds me of the time with John Walker.”

                “John Walker?”

                “Yeah, it was my first time,” Thom recalled fondly. “I fucked this guy because I thought his girlfriend, was hot.”

                “That doesn’t even make sense.”

                Thom sighed. “It did, somehow, at the time. I don’t like to think about it too much because then this _prick_ , James Callender, found out and stuff happened.”

                “Stuff?”

                “ _Stuff._ Anyway, I think it’s a good time to sleep now.”

                “Goodnight,” whispered Lafayette.

                “Goodnight.”

\---

                “Hey Charles,” Alexander said in the room that they both shared, looking across the table at his roommate, who was immersed in tinkering with a calculator that he had taken apart. Charles looked up. Alex noticed that his hair had grown rather long, but said nothing.

                “Yeah?” asked Charles. “You rang?”

                “Would you like to come see the play at my school with me? This Friday?”

                Charles tilted his head to one side. “Sure, depending on what play it is. If it’s Shakespeare, then I’m out.”

                “Nah, it’s _The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail_.”

                “Never heard of it.”

                “Great. There’s a first time for everything.” Alexander smiled briefly, before saying, “Jack’s also coming. I think it will be fun. Not that I even _believe_ in the concept of fun, but you know what I mean.”

                Rolling his eyes, Charles replied, “If I’m just third-wheeling, then I’m out. One time John Singleton took me out along with Henry Pelham because he thought we would be friends, and after that, I swore to myself: _never again_.”

                “I thought Copley was straight,” Alex commented.

                “Oh, he _is_ ,” reassured Charles. “Henry’s his _half-brother_ , and boy, are they close. But never again.”

                Alex chuckled a bit, before saying, “Don’t worry, Charles, that’s ridiculous. Anyway, my friend Lafayette is in it, and it’s his first time performing anything in the United States, so we _have_ to go. For him.”

                “He’s French, I’m assuming. Why’d you say ‘ _first time_ ’ performing in the United States? First and last?”

                Shaking his head, Alex explained, “No. He wants to be a musician, so he’s got to come back to do a North America tour someday.”

                “That was a strangely sweet thing to say, Alex,” Charles said. “Say, praise me like you praised him.”

                “Absolutely not,” he retorted. “Anyway, how’s your entire painting thing going? I heard your _mentor_ got accepted into Oxford.”

                “Mentor?” questioned Charles. “Didn’t you hear? John Singleton lost his scholarship over a technicality.”

                “ _What_? Is that why he was so upset the other day?”

                Charles nodded, saying, “Yeah. The scholarship he got was for orphans, but I guess he forgot that he still has a parent.”

                “Really?”

                “His mom owns a tobacco shop in Boston, but she can’t afford to take care of him, which is why he’s a ward of the state and lives here. But I guess that’s not good enough for the scholarship people.” He sighed.

                Alex leaned back on his chair, letting only two legs touch the floor. “Wow,” he said, “I never thought about _that_ possibility before.”

                “You have living family members?”

                “A brother,” He replied after some thought. “He’s, um, older than I am, a lot older, actually. Fifteen years. He’d be, what, thirty…” He tried to remember how old he’d said he was. Sixteen? “…thirty-one? We were never really that close. He’s a carpenter.”

                After a few seconds, Charles commented, “That was a really weird thought process. I have a brother too, though. James Peale. He’s eight years younger than me. He lives in Chestertown. One of these days, I want to teach him to paint.”

                “Who does he live with?”

                “My mom,” Charles answered. “My situation is kind of like John Singleton’s; my dad died a couple of months after James was born, and it was either that my mom had to give up me or him, and I cared about James too much for him to be an orphan, so I left.”

                “Funny,” said Alex, “my brother’s named James, too. James Hamilton.”

\---

                The rest of the week passed quickly, and on Friday, Alexander, Laurens, and Charles _did_ go to see _The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail_ in the Frederick High School auditorium. As Laurens was navigating and trying to find a good parking spot which wasn’t _too_ far away in the March weather, Charles commented, “Wow, you private school bitches sure have a nice campus. There are, like, trees and stuff.”

                Laurens sighed, “I am lucky that my dad still pays for my secondary education. I’m fucked if I go to college.”

                “Scholarships are nice,” Alex added as Laurens pulled into a vacant parking spot. “I didn’t know that this many people showed up to watch the school play,” he then commented.

                Laurens pointed out, “I think there’s also a basketball game today, or something.”

                As they walked inside and waited in line to buy tickets, Charles asked, “Is this going to be awkward? Or anything? Because I’ve never been here before and I don’t know anyone so I really don’t mean to intrude or anything…”

                Alex and Laurens both reassured him, and Laurens added, “In case anyone asks, Alex and I are now married and you’re our new son.” Alex blushed.

                Unfortunately, the moment they actually entered the auditorium (which, true to Laurens’s word, was only half full), someone stood up and began to approach them in a friendly fashion. Who would it possibly fucking be besides Thomas fucking Jefferson. Alex internally cringed, but he wasn’t there for neither Laurens nor himself. To his surprise, he issued a friendly greeting to Charles.

                “Charles Willson Peale!” he said loudly, not loudly enough for anyone else outside of their group to hear, but loudly enough for Charles, Alex, and Laurens to get the point that he would have hypothetically been louder in another situation. He then added, “…and John and Alex.”

                Charles squinted a bit, before replying, “Thomas… Jefferson?”

                “Yes!” Thom nodded, “That’s me. Long time no see. How have you been?”

                Alex furled his eyebrows. “You two know each other?” he asked.

                In response, Laurens explained, “We all went to the same elementary school. And middle school.”

                Charles said, “Thomas, I wasn’t expecting to see you, of all people, here. Are you friends with Alex?”

                Thom made brief eye contact with Alex and then looked back at Charles. “It’s complicated. Anyway,” he continued, “I’m here with both other Johns, like, you know, John and also my loser cousin. Oh, also Angelica and her sister. We should all sit together since we’re _friends_.” He put a really specific inflection on the word _friends_ which made Alex uncomfortable because he knew it was directed at him.

                Laurens answered for them. “Sure, let’s go, the play starts in five minutes.” A lot of introductions happened that night.

                First, everyone introduced themselves to Charles and vice versa, and then Angelica’s sister, Elizabeth-who-went-by-Eliza-and-Betsey-interchangeably, introduced herself to both Laurens and Alexander and vice versa, and that ended up taking the entire few minutes before the play began.

                The stage lights went dark, the curtain opened, and “Mad” Anthony Wayne said the opening line, “What was his name?”

\---

                When it was over, Alexander commented, “I didn’t know Anthony was such a good actor.” Even more so than Henry (who had been played by Nia-man-rigounant who also went by Louis Cook), he’d managed to steal the show.

                “There’s a reason they call him Mad, you know,” Laurens replied. “He’s a nice guy, though, really. I used to be in French with him. He has a talent for building forts.”

                “Forts?” Alex raised an eyebrow, but Laurens just nodded.

                It was also right after the curtain closed for the final time that Alex first got a good look at Elizabeth-called-Eliza-called-Betsey Schuyler. Alexander supposed that she wasn’t a beauty like her sister was, but pretty in a rather plain way. Her most captivating feature was her black eyes, which seemed to just take everything in as it was. However, even his closer look at Elizabeth-who-went-by-Betsey-and-Eliza was cut short, as Angelica left promptly.

                At the end of the play, Alex also managed to catch a glimpse of Thom crying, which was a most unusual sight. He didn’t know whether it was because of the ending or because he was just _so_ damn proud of Lafayette, but likely some of both. To be fair, though, Laurens had also started crying throughout the piece three separate times.

                The then addressed Charles, “Before we leave, you _have_ to meet Lafayette. You just have to.”

                “Okay,” agreed Charles. “He’s French, right?”

                Thom answered for Alex. “Yes. He’s staying with me for the rest of the year and then I’m doing a year in France. I love him.” He briefly stopped talking when he saw John glaring at him from the corner of his eye, but then continued to say, “So much.”

                “ _What the fuck_?” thought John. “ _Is he trying to make me jealous by talking about Lafayette, whom I also bear a deeply-rooted affinity for_?”

                “I agree. You can’t leave without meeting Lafayette because he is my _favorite person_ in existence and deserves nothing but love and joy.” This prompted Jackie, who hadn’t said anything, to nod in solidarity even though he, too, had not spoken to Lafayette that much.

                “Wait, which character did he play?” Charles asked. “I’m guessing Bailey? There was some dual casting, so maybe also, I don’t know, Edward?”

                Laurens was surprised. “You’re sharper than I thought you were,” he said, and then immediately backtracked on that statement because he felt bad. “I mean, it’s not that I already didn’t think you were sharp, because I totally did, and…” However, his backtracking was covered up by the fact that the hero, Lafayette, walked back on stage to grab something from the other side and was promptly yelled at by everyone.

                “Lafayette!” Laurens called. Lafayette, a bit startled, turned around. There weren’t many people left lingering in the auditorium. Lafayette gave the universal ‘one moment’ sign before taking the shortcut off the stage into the auditorium, accompanied by… George Frederick.

                Charles extended his hand first to Lafayette, and then to George. “Charles Willson Peale,” he said. “I’m friends with Alex and Jack and Thom. Pleased to meet you, Lafayette, George.” After he had introduced himself, he congratulated both actors and then posed to Lafayette the question, “Sorry if this is too direct, but has anyone ever told you that you look really feminine?” Alex discreetly elbowed him.

                Lafayette made brief, uncomfortable eye contact with both Thom and George. “Haha… no… nobody has ever told me that before, no way…”

                He was bad at lying.

                “So,” he then asked, “how do you know everyone here?” He gestured around.

                “Well, I live with Alex, and I knew Thom and Jack both in elementary school, but,” Charles paused. “I actually just met John and Jackie and Angelica and Betsey, was it?” While they chatted, everyone broke off into their own conversation groups for about ten minutes until everyone was happy and well-acquainted. It was during that time that Alexander also first spoke to Jackie, and found him to have many of the same interests. Also that he was apparently Thom’s cousin and that they hated each other, because their entire social circle just had to be so convoluted that it didn’t even really make sense to anyone. In any case, Charles ended up exchanging phone numbers with both Thom and Lafayette before they parted ways.

                When Laurens finally took both Charles and Alex back to where they live, Charles asked, “Jack, how far away do you live from here, anyway?”

                Laurens shrugged. “Not far, maybe ten minutes? I literally drive past here on the way to town every day anyway, which is why I can take Alex places without blowing any money on fuel.”

                He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, Jack, I actually had a really great time seeing _Thoreau_ and meeting all of your friends and reuniting with my fourth-grade lab partner, so thanks a lot for taking me with you, I really, really mean it.”

                Laurens smiled, although Charles couldn’t see it. “No problem, friendo! It’s always nice to see you, which has been a lot lately, really.”

                “Well, I’m going to go now, in case there’s anything you two want to do while I’m not around.” He then exited the vehicle and went inside the building where they lived.

                Before Alexander did the same, he gently said to Laurens, “I’m not going to tell you that I love you because we’ve only known each other for five months…” He paused to kiss his boyfriend long and sweetly. “… but one of these days now, maybe.”

                Laurens laughed a soft laugh. It was dark, and the only brightness came from the beams of his headlights. “Oh, shut _up_ ,” he returned before pulling Alex in for another one.

\---

                That night, unfortunately, Lafayette also blew a fucking gasket and ended up video calling Laurens to resolve his issues.

                “You see,” he explained, “I really like Charles Willson Peale, I really do, but that _thing_ he told me has been making me _mad_ for the last three hours, and I have no idea…”

                “What do you mean?” From the other side of the video camera, Laurens appeared to be in the lobby of his apartment building, because it was the only place which had free Wi-Fi. He knew he looked like a tired mess and was working the morning shift tomorrow, but he didn’t care. “I mean, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but Charles wasn’t… exactly… wrong? I mean, like…”

                Ughguhgughghgh. Lafayette didn’t want to _tell_ him that he was trans because he passed well enough anyway, so he just didn’t. “Anyway, and then George Frederick pulled another dick move on me. I don’t even know how to feel about him at this point.”

                “Oh my god, what did he do?”

                Lafayette had to think about it. “Well, we were both backstage, and by this point it was about five minutes after you left and nobody was actually still in the auditorium but a few people were still outside, but you get it. So he says to me, ‘Lafayette’, in that really shitty voice of his, you know, and says, ‘listen I’m really proud of you especially since this is the first play you’ve been in in English and I’m so glad that I had to opportunity to work with everyone...’ but like, this bitch almost fucking starts crying, right?”

                Laurens had no idea where Lafayette learned all of these words, but he wasn’t ready to step in front of Lafayette’s train of rage. “…Right.”

                “So then he says to me, ‘Sorry if this is a bad time, but would you mind if I kissed you?’ and of _course_ I want to say, ‘no, you creep, get away from me because I really don’t like you’ but what am I supposed to do? So of course I say yes, and-”

                “Lafayette,” Laurens groaned.

                “-and I think this gets him off, or something.”

                “ _Lafayette you have to learn to say no_. How long has this been going on?”

                “A few months now,” admitted Lafayette. “This has to stop. Oh, and there’s something else I have to tell you, too.”

                Laurens was almost scared at this point. “…Yeah?”

                Blushing, Lafayette said, “Well, for the past month or so, actually since you were in the hospital…” He paused. “I have been sleeping in the same bed as Thom and it’s nice and all but I think this is probably a bad thing.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, sometimes he kisses my neck and things like that. It’s not romantic, though, but is that bad? Am I partaking in something which is not innocent and pure?”

                Laurens didn’t even know how to react to all of the shit from the people he chose to interact with anymore.

                “Uh, in so many ways, yes.”

                “Explain.”

                “Well, that’s inherently intimate, and therefore something which people aren’t supposed to do with anyone other than an SO or something, at least in the US so I’d say yes.”

                Lafayette raised an eyebrow. “What does SO stand for?”

                “Significant other,” replied Laurens. “Like a boyfriend or girlfriend.” God, he didn’t know what John would do if he found out about all this shit, but it would be bad. He was relying on the word “if” a lot here.

                Lafayette groaned. “I am literally going to go fuck a rib.”

                “Fuck a rib?” Laurens asked, laughing slightly despite himself. “I’ve _never_ heard that expression before in my _life_.” This incited a long conversation about how, hypothetically, one could manage to fuck a rib (do you put the rib up yourself or fuck the slots in between the ribs?), but even in their rib-fucking nonsense, both of them knew that it was just away to distract from the problems of the present. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail, and just everything about Thoreau in general. Especially the fact that he literally lived in his best friend's backyard.
> 
> I've been thinking a lot about the Jackson presidency lately. I don't have any reason to have been thinking about the Jackson presidency besides that he gets slandered a whole lot but in fact had a pretty great presidency and consistently gets ranked in the top ten. That being said, he was also an appalling racist but Jacksonian democracy is pretty sweet.
> 
> Discussion question: Did Lafayette do anything wrong?


	14. Relationships and Day Trips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette learns to not get attached to people, or they will lie about not having tuberculosis. They really conducted these things better in France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Thomas Jefferson was 46, he crippled his right hand because he tried to jump a fence and it didn't work out.
> 
> My history teacher calls me a traitor because I love Hamilton but I am actually a huge fan of Jefferson.

Ideal Pursuits by Jacques Swain

Chapter 14: Relationships and Day Trips

And then Spring Break came around, and there was time. There was time and there was time and there was so much time that it made Thom’s head spin to think about how much time he was wasting, and how he didn’t have piano lessons for another week, and that he could probably just read and write and draw and hunt for four-leaf clovers in his garden until it all stopped.

There was time for speech practice. Districts and sectionals were both coming up soon, and in his heart, he _knew_ that the one item missing from his college transcript would be the fact that he would never, ever make it to nationals, and that was okay. After all, he had never been great at US extemporaneous, and would never be. His style was too casual to give speeches and talk _at_ people about current events. Giving speeches was more of John’s thing, in fact, wasn’t he the entire reason that he chose to spend hours each Saturday doing something he hated? The reason he hadn’t given up Lincoln-Douglas debate yet? His reason for…

Not existing, but maybe that, too.

Thom knew that it was his own fault that he was going to ruin their relationship. He knew that he would have to tell him that he’d cheated on him, and even if there were no personal advantages, for once it could be for the greater good.

Yeah.

The greater good.

But today was the one day when he could just forget about it, and everything, because today was the day that they were day-tripping in Philadelphia, one of the great American cities. Of course, Annapolis was a great American city too, but not nearly as great. And not like it mattered or anything, but today was also the day when he could spend time with almost everyone he loved without the presence of Alexander Hamilton. It would be, well, just like everything had been before he walked into their lives and made everything complicated.

Was it really because of Alex that everything got complicated, or was he just the catalyst?

Thom didn’t know. He tried not to care.

He knocked on Lafayette’s door and called, “Lafayette, are you done getting dressed yet? Because Philadelphia’s, like, one and a half hours away and I would preferably like to get there before ten.”

“Thom, I look like a _mess_ ,” he called back through the door. “You don’t understand; French people actually care about good impressions.”

“First of all, I want to call you out on incorrectly stereotyping Americans but I can’t do that without sounding like a self-righteous asshat, and second of all, I’m sure you look _fine_ because you’re a sharp dresser.” When Lafayette did finally come out of his room roughly thirty seconds later, Thom said the typical response of an American high school boy, which was, “Wow, you look… great.”

“ _Je sais_. Let’s go.”

Before they could really get on their way, they had to pick up both Johns, but after that, they were all set. Laurens had been thoughtful enough to bring granola bars for everyone.

“John Laurens,” Lafayette inquired once they were on their way, “What do you even have to do in Philadelphia?”

Laurens shrugged. “There’s a guy I know who just got out of quarantine for tuberculosis and I thought it would be the right thing to go see him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Peter,” he answered. “I met him because my old coworker, Louis, lived with him and thought that we would get along well. Anyway, Thom, hand me the AUX cord.”

“ _No_ ,” Thom said sternly, but Lafayette handed it to him anyway. “Wait…” he paused, looking briefly at his GPS and then back at the road. “Laurens, Lafayette, did you know that you both gave me the same address?”

“What do you mean?” asked Lafayette.

“As in, you’re both going to the same city to visit the same person and if that’s not the _weirdest_ coincidence, then I don’t know what.”

Lafayette and Laurens said “ _what,”_ at the same time.

Lafayette was slightly astonished at this news. “You mean that Pierre Etienne hasn’t sent me any letters because he had fucking tuberculosis for a year?”

“Probably more than that,” Laurens pointed out. “In any case, I’m just glad that he’s okay. You know, you told me about your friend who whored himself out to an older guy to come to the United States, but I had _no fucking clue_ it was Peter Stephen.”

John interrupted. “I think it’s very cool that you are both good friends with the same person without knowing about it. It’s like fate destined it to be this way, for some reason.”

Laurens asked him, “What task do you have in the city today? Or are both of you just going because you can? Don’t you have speech practice today?”

In response, John just said, “Yeah pretty much,” but Thom gave a lengthier reply. “John didn’t want to come with me but haphazardly agreed when I told him that I would make out with him at Independence Hall.”

“Don’t tell people that!” John blushed.

Jokingly, Laurens scoffed. “Yeah, typical _John_ , always wanting to do _nerd things_ like _make out_ at Independence Hall. What’s next, having sex at Philadelphia City Hall?”

“Well,” John defended himself, “I bet William Penn was pretty hot, okay?”

Lafayette shook his head, sadly whispering, “No, John, no, no no…”

Then, Laurens completely changed the subject from how sexy William Pitt may have been “I wonder what Alex is doing today,” he said in a wistful voice.

“You two are so in love that it’s kind of disgustingly cute,” commented Thom. Laurens blushed.

“I’m not in love with him,” Laurens insisted, but as the days went on he seemed to believe this less and less. “It’s only been four months. Less than that. You can’t be in love with someone you’ve known for such a short period of time.” At this, Thom and John made brief eye contact in the rearview mirror before looking away just as abruptly.

Although none of them wanted to admit it, there was an unmistakable absence in the vehicle. It was an absence which was usually reserved for Alexander, and it almost felt slightly empty that he wasn’t here. This was nothing like before he moved to Annapolis, because everything had so irrevocably changed since then. As for Thom and John, it was obvious what about their relationship had changed, but John seemed to be more and more depressed lately, and Thom was almost certain that somehow, part of it was his fault. John was losing his innocence, but it wasn’t up to him to decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Laurens had changed too, of course; there was a visual reminder of that time his actual life had been put on the line, and even other than that, he had gained a significant amount of emotional maturity over the past few months and no longer was forced to rely on people the same way he had been last year. Thanks to fellow societal outcast Alexander Hamilton, he didn’t feel so alone in the world anymore. As for Lafayette, Thom had no fucking clue what his issue was anymore. When they’d first met, he seemed so cool and sophisticated and with an anime-level backstory, like ‘ _My friend came to this country and I have to see him again’_ , but now it occurred to him that he was just, well, another human being who had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

And it made him sad in a way that everything had changed so much while he managed to remain the same person he always had been. The only other person who he’d never known to change was Alex himself, and that was a different story. He’d experienced more than anyone else had, so it made sense that he would have a better grip on his own identity.

Thom kept driving, and eavesdropping on the conversations of those around him.

“Hey, does anyone know any good gossip?” Laurens inevitably asked, for it was his weakness.

Thom couldn’t help but mutter, “ _Laurens I think we are the gossip”,_ but refrained from letting Laurens hear him.

And, as always, John was the one to speak up about this stuff. “Well, I heard that Charles Lee got expelled.”

Lafayette, who was sitting in shotgun, turned around. “Really? Why?”

“Apparently he cheated at chemistry multiple times and also plagiarized some essays.”

“That’s… that’s so stupid, though.”

“I know,” Laurens added. “Even a wolverine would have the common decency to not do that.”

“Oh my god, wolverines.” John had an almost-menacing smile on his face. “Thom, he said wolverines.”

“What about… wolverines….?” Laurens asked, slightly confused. “I just think that they are cool.”

“I’m going to tell the wolverine story.”

Thom interrupted, “John, do _NOT_ tell the wolverine story!” He was very aggressive about this. “I will fucking turn this car around and go home because I’m not ready to deal with this shit. _Not today_.” paused. “By the way, Lafayette, there’s a blanket in the glove compartment, if you wouldn’t mind handing it to me.”

As Lafayette performed the aforementioned task, he said, “You can’t just mention this story and not tell it.

“Yes I fucking can and I will.”

Laurens then switched the subject. “Lafayette, how did you even meet Peter Stephen in the first place?”

“I haven’t told you this story?”

“No.”

“Oh,” shrugged Lafayette. “It goes like this:

“Imagine both of us as really awkward youngsters. I met him on the train one day on my way home from school. You know, mass public transport in France is much more common than it is in the United States, but not very many people took that line. I knew everyone, and then one day there was a new guy. I was a little bit older than him, but it turned out that we had many of the same interests and details; both of us came from, you know, _honorable_ families, and we were young and overcome with love for English and spirit for the future, and soon we became dear friends, even though we only saw each other when commuting. He said he’d left his home and come to Paris, where he’d taken up being someone’s secretary. He passed the BAC at an incredibly young age, kind of a prodigy, you know? It was with him that I first stumbled over my English words, nursing a vocabulary. And then, one day, he was _gone_. He sent me a letter that he’d gone to live in the United States with some older guy who was deeply attracted to him to be _his_ secretary. I wasn’t going to do a foreign exchange, you know, except that I also passed the BAC a year early and decided that this would be a good way to spend a year. In the letter, he said something like, ‘Lafayette, do not forget your ideal pursuits.’”

Lafayette’s voice broke several times as he was telling the story, because he’d never told any of this to anyone before. It somehow felt right, though, recounting this story now, because he needed a refresher for his memory as well. The last bit, when he’d “paraphrased” the words Peter Stephen wrote to him was a lie- a lie, of course, because he’d traced his fingers over the words on the page countless times.

And now, there would finally be closure.

\---

Once they actually arrived at a mansion on the outskirts of Philadelphia, Lafayette and Laurens were both too nervous to actually ring the doorbell. Although Laurens had told Peter Stephen that he’d be coming by on this day, Lafayette definitely had not.

“You mean you just planned to show up at someone’s house?” Laurens asked.

“This is pretty normal in every part of the world except for America,” Lafayette pointed out, “So I didn’t think it would be that weird.”

Finally, when Laurens rang the doorbell, Lafayette was nervous with anticipation. Would Pierre Etienne look the same? Would they still be friends? What if he’d changed too much in the last two years? Perhaps it would be better to just leave and never see each other again. Not that he let any of it show on his face, of course.

Peter Stephen then looked from Laurens to Lafayette, and then back to Laurens, until his eyes finally rested on just Lafayette. His reaction was almost comically delayed. “…Lafayette!” he exclaimed. “You’re… here!” Lafayette had totally forgotten how awkward Peter Stephen had the tendency to be. He paused for a moment, looking Lafayette up and down. “…Why?”

“Yeah, why _would_ I come to your literal doorstep? I wonder.” As Peter Stephen kept looking at him in this confused manner, Lafayette smiled. “I came to see you, of course.” He then leaned down to kiss Peter Stephen on the cheek, but instead decided at the last minute to kiss him on the mouth because he was Lafayette and why the fuck not. Peter Stephen, in his usual manner, remained cool and completely unfazed by this.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” he then said, “how do both of you know each other? John and Lafayette?”

Laurens was the one to explain. “We go to the same school.”

“Lafayette, don’t you have to study for the BAC?” Despite Peter Stephen’s levels of surprise and confusedness, he remained cool enough that Laurens was impressed.

“Passed it last year, _mention très bien_ ,” Lafayette answered. “So are we just all going to stand here, or…”

“Yeah…” Peter Stephen mumbled. “Would you like to come inside for a dish of tea?”

As they went inside and Peter Stephen began to boil the water for the tea, Lafayette and Laurens both could not help but notice the grandeur and floridness of the interior of the house. It was, as Thom might say, “fucking enormous”, but it displayed both class and outrageous flashiness. Who, but someone who knew what they were doing, would use _that_ shade of red?

“Pierre Etienne, who exactly do you live with?” Lafayette asked.

“Everyone calls him the Baron and nothing else. He’s a German man who is very, uh, _passionate_ and really enjoys the company of young men. He is good at getting it, too.”

“Is he gay?”

“Yes.”

“Does he pay for all of your expenses?”

“…Yes.”

“Damn, Pierre Etienne, you’ve got it pretty well made. Is he attracted to you?”

“Some questions are better left unanswered, and _that_ one in particular is a good example of this phenomenon. I met him through Monsieur Beaumarchais, you know?”

Laurens asked, “Who’s Monsieur Beaumarchais?”

“A man whom we are both acquainted with in Paris,” Lafayette answered. “He’s wealthy, is smart, and has a lot of good connections. He’s a playwright, among many, many other things.”

It was Peter Stephen’s turn to ask a question. “By the way, how is it possible that both of you attend the same school? And Lafayette, were you really just planning to show up at my house one day and expect me to be here? Your English has really, really improved tremendously.”

“Coincidence and a foreign exchange program,” he answered. “And for the second question, yes. And thank you. You know, you ask an awful lot of questions for someone who’s just recovered from, you know, tuberculosis.”

“Who told you about that?”

“I did,” said Laurens. “You chide Lafayette for his bad planning but you also just never planned to tell him that you were quarantined for a year?”

“Well, if you must know, I never even _had_ tuberculosis that badly. I mean, I coughed up blood and everyone thought that I was going to die including myself, but it turns out that it wasn’t that bad and that all I needed was some fresh air.”

“You’re shitting me,” Lafayette accused.

“I am not doing the act which you just described. Who taught you these words?”

“Funny, everyone asks me the same question. Thom did.”

“Who is that?”

Lafayette had to think for a moment before he could conjure the proper words to describe Thom. “He’s a guy… who I know… who I live with.”

“You mean your host brother?”

“No. Exactly not that. Did you really plan to just die and never tell me that you had tuberculosis?”

Peter Stephen grimaced. “I thought that I would figure something out once the time came. Oh, look, the tea is done!”

Even within seven minutes of arriving, Laurens knew that this would be an incredibly long and exhausting day. Although he loved Lafayette, his thoughts and words and actions could be overwhelming at times, especially when he would not let go of the fact that Peter Stephen had tuberculosis for a year and didn’t tell him. What was one to do? He was certain that if he came down with a deadly illness- say, HIV or cancer, then he would certainly abstain from telling him for a long time simply because he knew that his reaction would be outrageous. He really, really hoped that this thought process wouldn’t end up jinxing him for the future.

Peter Stephen sighed. “I’m sorry, Lafayette, that I didn’t tell you that I had tuberculosis even though I almost died because I had other concerns at the time, such as whether I would, you know, die or not.”

“You mean you really almost were dead.”

“Yes,” he repeated, “I was almost dead. And then I got better for a while and stayed here, but then the Baron told me to go to a hospital, and that’s around the time when I met John Laurens.”

Laurens felt like he should say something. “Uh,” he said, “Lafayette, you’re just going to have to accept the fact that he didn’t tell you he had TB.”

“Fine,” Lafayette sighed. “I’ll, you know, get over it. So, euh, Pierre Etienne, what have you been up to, besides having tuberculosis, I mean?”

“I have done nothing but read history and Bell’s British Poets for the entre past year. Oh, and I did some translation work in between, but I don’t remember when, exactly, it was. I’m not very good with dates.”

“Where is the Baron right now?”

Peter Stephen shrugged. “He went to do something at City Hall, although I cannot for the life of me recall what it was. My memories are still a bit weak, you see?” He then asked Laurens and Lafayette both, “So, how exactly _do_ you two know each other? You said you go to the same school? How is that even possible?”

“I passed the BAC a year early, and decided to wait another year before I start studying to go to one of the _Grandes Écoles_ , so instead I came here to study for a year.”

Laurens continued the story with, “He ended up living with my best friend which is also how we became friends.”

“By any chance, do either of you know Samuel Adams? I believe he lives in Annapolis, or at least used to. There’s thirty thousand people though, so asking may prove to be futile.”

“Yeah!” Laurens replied. “We went to the same school for a year. His cousin is actually one of our good friends. Actually, second cousin, I think. How do you know him?”

“I actually dined with him once, when he was here on some sort of business. We chatted for a bit about populism, and he asked me where I learned about it, and when I of course answered ‘ _France’_ , he said, ‘just because one is born in stable, it does not mean that he should be a horse’. I do not know what that means still, but I figure that it was some sort of compliment? They conduct these things better in France.”

Lafayette nodded to this statement. “There really are some things that they conduct better in France, which is why I came to the United States, because other things, they really do not conduct that well, but it seems as if they conduct the art of fucking things up a lot better here.”

Peter Stephen thought about it before he confirmed, decidedly, that Lafayette was one hundred percent correct, but he also wondered if Lafayette was speaking from outsider or personal experience when he mentioned “fucking things up”. What thing was he referring to that was completely fucked up?

“What’s completely fucked up?” he asked.

“I’ve heard more gossip in my less-than-one-year here than my entire life in France,” Lafayette replied.

Laurens interjected, “Okay, that’s probably somewhat my fault, but to be fair there’s a theory that language was only invented in order to accommodate gossip, so it’s really perpetuating human nature to tell it.”

“That’s what Alex always says.” Laurens blushed because Lafayette was _right_.

“Who is Alex?” asked Peter Stephen.

\---

Once they had embarked from Peter Stephen’s majestic driveway, Thom remarked to John, “Peter Stephen seems like a nice person and I hope I get to meet him at some point.”

“Lafayette’s friends from France are probably so cool,” John agreed. This brought up the fact that both of them had managed to avoid for months, now: Thom was going to be in France for a year and they wouldn’t see each other in all of that time. “Also, when are you leaving?”

Smiling, Thom replied, “June third, the day after school ends. What are we going to do? Send each other love letters and birthday gifts through the mail?”

“You’ve never actually told me what day your birthday is.”

“Oh.” He paused for a moment before replying, “It’s the thirteenth of April. A couple of weeks from now, I’ll be seventeen. Can you imagine?”

John smirked. “God, you’re so old,” he said. “Well, I guess you’re only six months older than I am.” To his surprise, Thom’s usually high-held face fell a miniscule amount, but enough that it was still visible.

“I know,” he said, “I’m going to graduate when I’m _nineteen_ and one-and-a-half months. It’s awful. Who the fuck graduates when they’re nineteen? I mean, it’s not super uncommon, but it makes it super worse that John fucking Marshall, my loser cousin, is also the youngest in our class with a birthday on September-fucking-twenty-fourth.”

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, you’re literally the only one who cares.”

Once again, Thom smiled. “You know what?” he said. “That actually does make me feel better about it in a singularly _John_ sort of way. Also, don’t tell anyone that my birthday is on April thirteenth, because you _know_ that John Laurens will try to do something and he’s in a permanent state of broke-ness so he really can’t.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Also, I know he’s your cousin, but John Marshall is also, like, my best friend, so can you stop calling him your loser cousin at any chance you get?”

“Of course. I love you.”

“I love you too.” John didn’t like that the only options for their relationship, however long down the road, were either to break up or get married because both seemed equally bad at the moment. “So,” he said, “how long is it until we actually get there?” Their plans were: to visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art, to make out at Independence Hall, and then preferably to also make out at Philadelphia City Hall if there was time.

“Ten minutes, I think, and then we have to find parking.”

“Doesn’t your sister live around here?”

At this question, Thom tensed up. It wasn’t often that he did this, but he was thinking, ‘ _Did I tell John that I have a sister? Moreover, which sister?”_

“I told you I have a sister? Which one?”

“Yeah…” John affirmed, “the one who’s interred at a psychiatric facility.” He’d never seen Thom so tense in his life, so his sudden lack of comfort was a surprise for him. “You have more than one sister?”

“I actually have six, but five of them are my half-sisters, and then a half-brother who’s the twin of my youngest half-sister. Jane, Mary, Martha, Bet, Lucy, Anna, and Randolph.” Seeing the confused look on John’s face from the corner of his eye, he explained, “My dad, Peter Jefferson, gets around a lot. I mean, he _got_ around a lot.”

John had no idea how to react to all the information he’d just been. He tried to remind himself to not try to define words in order to find a conclusion, but he didn’t know what definitions meant anymore. What was a family? And moreover, what were relationships? And Day Trips? And why did Thom change around his information about his dad so often? “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Thom shook his head. “It’s just the way things are. Say, have you heard anything about Sam lately?”

“Nothing. Johnny started selling drugs, though. You know how his mom is our part-time school counselor? Mary Thaxter?”

“Of course!”

John stifled a laugh. “I heard that some girl couldn’t talk to her about her relationship issues because Johnny is her boyfriend’s drug dealer.”

“Am I still on to do drugs with Peter?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How ‘bout Elihu?”

“Well,” John had to think about it for a moment. “I would say yes because to be honest I don’t like him that much, but at the same time, he’s like… six.”

“You don’t know your own brother’s age?” Thom asked jokingly.

“You think I _talk_ to that kid?” retorted John. “There are things we all don’t know. For example, you don’t know how to swim…”

“ _John!”_

“… or ride a bike, for that matter.”

“I’m going to turn around right now and drive back to Annapolis. I refuse to be shamed like this, in my own car. I can’t believe what this world has come to.”

“I’ll sue you for kidnapping when I go to law school.” John grinned.

In an incredibly snarky tone, Thom replied, “Or I could just accidentally-on-purpose get in a car crash right now and kill both of us.”

“Honestly,” said John, “just do it. I don’t have anything to live for besides Congress and speech and debate to live for anymore, anyway.”

He continued, “We should both just kill ourselves on the same day at the same time, but make it seem completely unrelated so that nobody wonders whether it was a coincidence or just a really elaborate suicide plan.”

Thom briefly glanced at John.  “I can’t believe I corrupted a good Protestant boy like this.”

“Good Protestant boy?” John repeated incredulously. “Me?”

“Who else, honestly?”

“I am the _antithesis_ of good Protestant…”

“Isn’t killing yourself supposed to instantly send you to hell?”

“Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Okay,” Thom agreed. “I love you.” He wished that there were better words to convey to John what he felt about him without saying anything destructive. He _did_ love John; there was no question about it. But not in the same way that John felt about him. John had never made Thom’s heart flutter or skip a beat or any of that stuff. It was more like a sedentary, steady sort of feeling. He sometimes wondered if there was anything keeping them together other than the fact that they both felt like they should be together.

“I love you.”

“…Also I have to find parking now.”

Once Thom had found the “ridiculously expensive” parking, he asked, “John, do you want to go to the Art Museum with me?”

“I don’t have any money for a ticket,” he answered.

Thom whistled. “It’s okay, neither do I,” he said, even though this was a lie. “We can hang out on the steps and throw pennies at the people who walk by.”

“Fun things to do with your boyfriend: commit simple battery on strangers who just want to look at some Picasso.” John smirked.

“Is your mouth good for anything but talking?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Eating, vomiting occasionally, you know, the usual things. By the way, which event are you doing at districts? USX?”

“United States extemporaneous,” Thom confirmed. “Giving an extemporaneous seven-minute speech about US Politics. Cringe.”

“Did you seriously just say ‘cringe’ instead of actually cringing?”

“I hate speech, and I’m bad at it, too,” he grimaced. “And I hear that frowning and like expressions are bad for your complexion, or whatever. I trust that you’re doing USX too?”

“You betcha! I’m going to make it to nationals this year, too, I swear it! Wait,” John paused, “why do you do speech if you hate it?”

“To spend time with you, obviously.”

As they walked down the crowded sidewalks, the first thing John noticed was that Thom seemed to cringe whenever there was a large wave of people, as if he was afraid of them. There were a lot of large waves of people, since this was a sunny, good-natured Saturday. Annapolis was seemingly self-contained. Philadelphia, most certainly, was not. It was not its own fallacy in the universe where nobody seemed to come and nobody seemed to leave, despite the numerous docks and tourist attraction. Philadelphia was hot and sweaty and, well, wonderful. Thom didn’t seem to think so.

“Are you okay?” John asked. “You seem kind of fazed.”

“I hate people,” muttered Thom as he subtly hooked his finger onto one of the loops on John’s pants. “I hate this so much. I didn’t expect there to be so _many_ , you know, but I’d rather go somewhere quiet and also _not here_. I hate cities. So much.”

“Let’s, uh, leave, maybe?” John then suggested. “I’m sure there’s _somewhere_ quiet in this city. It’s eleven AM. Come on.”

And so, they _did_ end up sitting on the steps to the Art Museum for about four hours before deciding that it was too hot and spending the next three hours in the museum before it closed at five, and then spending the next hour aimlessly wandering the streets of downtown Philadelphia and never actually making out at Independence Hall. It would have to wait for another time.

\---

At the end of the day when the sun had gone down, at about eight P.M., Thom drove back to where Peter Stephen Du Ponceau lived in order to get both Lafayette and Laurens. He liked to think of them as the “‘L’ duo”. When he walked up to Peter Stephen’s door, he forced John to come with him. Luckily, he thought, they were both dressed acceptably to make a good impression. He wasn’t really good at dressing himself (not that he _cared_ , of course), so this was kind of unusual for him. Even from outside the enormous house, he could hear a great rattling of laughter and merrymaking, and wanted _in_.

Of course, it was Peter Stephen who answered the door. “Hello,” he said, “I presume that you’re both friends of Lafayette and John Laurens?” he asked. “My name is Peter Stephen Du Ponceau.”

Both Thom and John extended their hands, which he gladly accepted, and they introduced themselves. “A friend of Lafayette’s is a friend of mine,” he said. “Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?”

“We would _love_ to come in,” Thom answered, “if we’re not intruding upon anything, of course.” He hated coffee with a passion.

When Peter Stephen led them into his dining room and poured them both small cups of the terrible beverage, Thom saw both Lafayette and Laurens, and then two other men whom he didn’t know. He assumed that they’d finished eating dinner not too long ago. One of the men, who introduced himself as “Baron Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben” was clearly much older than the rest of them, and had a kind of intimidating presence but somehow managed to remain extremely flamboyant. He didn’t speak any English, and Thom thanked God for his years of French education.

The other man introduced himself as Benjamin Walker. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties, and had a handsome enough face that he could coast through his life on looks and charm. That was, in any case, how he managed to get the Baron to pay for his living expenses.

Their entire conversation after that consisted of a crude blend of English and badly-enunciated French with some Spanish and Latin words thrown in there, but that atrocity to language got the job done.

After about half an hour of light conversation and several riots of merrymaking, they all decided that it was time to _rentrer ad urbem se llama Annapolis_ , and Lafayette kissed Peter Stephen goodbye because they would probably never see each other again, and Laurens asked Lafayette, “Lafayette, how was, uh, seeing your friend again after all this time?”, to which he answered, “I learned to not romanticize people you know in real life because then they’ll lie to you about their health and it will be disappointing,”, which accurately summed up all his feelings about this exchange year: good but slightly disappointing. Not _entirely_ unfulfilling, in any case.              There were less than two months left that he’d be in this country; he’d certainly be back at some point in the future, but it wouldn’t be as a rosy-eyed teenager who thought he understood what he wanted but didn’t, who thought other people understood everything but didn’t. He had to stop trying to be deep, because he would just end up disappointed every time.

 Spring break wasn't  _over_ yet, though, because districts (the only thing he had heard about for weeks) were on April ninth, a week from today, and John genuinely seemed to believe that he had nothing to live for except for the off chance that he'd make it to nationals somehow or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The AP US History exam is on Friday so I started writing a Gilded Age fic to help me study because somehow this is a more effective tool for remembering course material than any flashcards have ever been.
> 
> Discussion question: Is Lafayette justified in his disappointment for everything?


	15. In A Perfect World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lafayette learns that in this world, you either punch or get punched, and everyone else learns that sometimes, you just have to put the damn dog down. (This is an expression; no dogs are actually harmed.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my best friend who double qualified for speech nationals and also got really offended when I wouldn't show him what I was typing.

In a perfect world, Alexander thought, he could find a better debate partner than Aaron Burr who he actually enjoyed being around, but unfortunately this was not a perfect world, and they would likely be stuck together for the remainder of their years in high school. He also thought that in a perfect world, Maryland would be like a normal state and hold district tournaments in March, but here he was, at 7:30 AM on April ninth, a Saturday during Spring Break, at a high school in Marriottsville with Aaron Burr because district speech was today. He was fairly certain that not even the students from Marriottsville High School were there yet, because the first round was slated to start at nine, and that wasn’t even taking debate and extemp flights into consideration.

                “Alex, do you feel like we’re prepared to PF our asses off today?” Aaron asked, flipping through their cases and files. “PF” was short for Public Forum debate, an analytical two-person debate event which required “PFing one’s ass off”.

                “You’re doing constructive and cross-ex so I can do the rebuttal and final speech.”

                “Isn’t that what we always do anyway?”

                “Yeah, and it works.” Alexander wasn’t _wrong_. They’d scored well in a number of tournaments, which was impressive considering that PF was the most rigorous event after Policy, but first-year members weren’t allowed to do Policy debate because it was “too draining”. Although neither of them would admit it, Alex and Aaron complemented each other well. In debate. Nothing else.

                Alex glanced over at the less-than-dynamic speech trio of John, Thom, and Jackie Marshall, who were also prepping for the tournament. John and Jackie were a policy team, and they tried to look intimidating by coordinating suits and ties and it _almost_ worked except for the fact that Jackie’s hair kept on falling in his face and he didn’t have a hair clip so he’d had to use a pen in place of one. Alexander could respect the fact that they were a pretty decent Policy team, but he didn’t know if they were good _enough_ to make it to nationals. He thought that the two of them cared about ethics too much to be arguing Policy. He didn’t like John that much but could tolerate him, and was almost friends with Jackie; he was enthusiastic and had a good sense of humor.

                _Thom_ , on the other hand: Alexander didn’t even know why he _did_ speech, and nor did anyone else, because he was exceedingly bad at it. And unlike some people, he wasn’t even in it out of passion or the love of the game. He _hated_ speech. Like, really hated it. He had the ability to give extemporaneous speeches which were well-worded and informative, but his delivery was just so terrible that it balanced everything else out. Alexander assumed that he’d only joined speech so that he could put it on his transcript and flirt with girls from other speech teams, but now he couldn’t even do the latter, so there was no point really. Why did he even do an event where he would have to give speeches when there was discussion? Whenever asked this exact question, he would always answer, “Because socialism is the answer to all of the problems they want us to discuss, but apparently that isn’t an acceptable answer.” Alex hated him. Even though he did give him rides to the high school parking lot every Saturday at usually 5 AM, which he could appreciate, but he still hated him.

                “John!” he called over, resulting in both John Adams and John Marshall turning around. “I meant John Adams,” he said. “You’re doing policy and USX, right?”

                “Yes!” he answered, “and Jackie is doing Policy with me and also humor, and Thom is doing USX as well.”

                “I didn’t ask, but thanks.” Mr. Jay, English-teacher-who-also-doubled-as-speech-coach, had told them that even finaling in districts was good, but he was sure that that was only a half-truth. There were about twenty-five members on their speech team, and only eight had come to the district meet, so this constituted Alex and Aaron and John and Jackie and Thom, of course, but then there was also Angelica, who did original oratory, and Sarah Livingston, who did informative and whose father, Philip, coincidentally ran the orphanage that Alexander lived in in New York. Both Angelica and Sarah were the sort of people who would spend the entire hour before the first round started rehearsing their pieces to walls. Both Thom and John soon left for the thirty-minute extemp prep time, and Jackie was revising one of his cases, so it was really just Alex and Aaron at their team’s collective table in the high school cafeteria. There weren’t _too_ many debaters around, so it was just them and a few other groups of people in the room. He’d guess that there were about 24 people total competing in both Policy _and_ PF, so that meant that there were four teams that they would have to beat to make it to the national tournament (the top two competitors/ teams in each category would be chosen), and there were only two that they would have to beat to be alternates in the case that one of the main choice could not go or were qualified in other events.

                “Aaron,” Alex mumbled, “take a walk with me before the room assignments are posted.”

                “You’re getting nervous?” The way Aaron said this was too smug for Alexander’s taste.

                “Shut up. Aren’t you?”

                “The way I see it,” he answered, “we have a thirty-three percent chance of qualifying for nationals, and that’s a pretty good probability, so not _too_ much. But yeah let’s _go_.”

                Unfortunately, the moment they stepped into the hallway, Alex saw people that he _knew_ and the entire purpose of taking a walk to de-stress failed. “ _Aaron_ ,” he whispered, “ _those two guys over there, I know them from Model UN and they’re really, really good.”_

                True to his word, standing there and looking over a map of the school were Patrick Henry and Paul Revere, the two who had represented the United States at Mason College Model UN and had won first place for best delegation.

                They both looked up at the same time and luckily seemed to recognize Alexander. “Hey!” Patrick said, raising his hand and smiling, “You’re, Malay-Indo-Argentin….?”

                “It was Malaysia,” Alexander corrected. “Nice to see both of you again after Model UN. You’re not usually at the speech meets around here, are you?”

                “Nah,” Paul answered, “we actually only come to sectionals, state, and districts. Nationals, last year, too. What event are you,” he gestured to both Alex and Aaron, “doing?”

                Aaron answered. “PF, which events are you two doing?”

                “We did policy last year but decided to mix it up and do PF. Who knows? Maybe we’ll come against each other. Other than that, I’m doubled in USX and Patrick is doing International extemp.”

                “If you make it in PF, though,” asked Alex, “doesn’t that mean that neither of you can make it in either extemp category?”

                Patrick shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try, at least. Hey, they’re posting room assignments and opponents.” On the wall where they taped all the definitive pieces of paper, a man from the ballot office was posting the new sheets of papers. Alexander sent Aaron to look at the information, and when he came back, he said, “Looks like we’re going against each other in roughly fifteen minutes.”

                “You’re kidding me.”

                “Well,” said Patrick, “we’ll meet you outside of room 118 in ten minutes, then. Best of luck.”

                “You too,” said Alex, and then to Aaron, “we’ve got to kick debate ass like never before.”

\---

                John was not having such a good day. His first extemp topic was something about the housing market in the United States, but who knew this sort of shit? The format of the event was that one received a topic, had thirty minutes to prepare a seven-minute speech on said topic, and then would have to deliver the speech. The reckoned that Thom had gotten lucky; his topic was on the United States and the value of the dollar if there would be a global currency war, which was kind of unfair given that that seemed more like an International Extemp question.

                First, he had to think of some sort of catchy opening which contained some sort of reference to pop culture, which was really the most important part. He recalled that once he’d used an opening about fucking anime, and had placed well, so anime it was. The housing market was bad right now, right? He didn’t know, and doubted that any of his files would have anything on this topic, either.

                After fifteen minutes of brainstorming and trying to draw a conclusion from analyzing United States economic trends of the past year, he decided that he would have to something that he _really_ did not want to do: he would have to lie.

                John considered himself to be a sort of honest person, and someone who actually tried to use proper sources whenever necessary, but that was the lovely (not so lovely?) thing about extemp: nobody would try to fact check him for making up names and figures and sources, and if he’d learned one thing from Alex, it was that nobody would notice if he said a lie and acted like it was the truth. Alex did it all the time, so why couldn’t he? Extempers and debaters lied all the time, so why couldn’t he? Alex had even told him before that he seemed like he cared too much to be good at these sorts of things, but maybe he was right.

                After another fifteen minutes were over, John went into the United States extemp room and gave what he swore was the absolute worst speech that he had _ever_ given, and left feeling like some sort of criminal for making up numbers and sources. He didn’t have time to think about it, however, because he had to grab his briefcase from the extemp prep room and _run_ all the way across the school to make it in time for the opening Policy speech.

                Policy, he thought, went well because the opponent spoke too slowly to get all of their points in, and Jackie spoke so quickly that he was able to get _more_ than all of his points in. That was what John liked about his best friend: he spoke fast, but his expressions and tone were varied enough to actually get people’s attention. At the near-end of that round, the judge tried to discreetly mark on their ballot that they had won, but it was obvious that the other team had lost to begin with. The matching ties had worked.

\---

                “Aaron, Alex, Thom, Angelica, Sarah, Jackie, how did your rounds go?” John asked in one of the rare moments when they were all together. It was almost a tradition at this point; John would ask everyone in rapid succession how their rounds went, and then they would talk shit about their opponents like there was no tomorrow.

                “Good,” answered Aaron.

                “Bad,” said Alex. That team’s opinions were never in accord.

                “The usual,” Thom replied, which meant “get me the hell out of here”.

                “Okay,” said Angelica.

                “Bad,” Sarah said, before asking, “How’d yours go?”

                John grimaced. “There was this girl in the Policy team we went up against who cited a statistic from ‘Berkeley University’, and when I politely told her after the round, ‘hey, it’s actually UC Berkeley, not Berkeley University’, she just ignored me. Who does that?” The speech team was the only group of people which John spoke to so openly.

                “Yeah, what a bi- _very misled person_ ,” Thom agreed. He really tried not to use the word “bitch” when Angelica was around because she hated him for it, but didn’t hesitate to do so when she was not around. In any case, this resulted in her elbowing him.

                “OO was bad because there was that one guy whom I _hate_ ,” Angelica said. “You know, the guy changes his speech in between every single round, which is totally breaking the rules? That guy.”

                “ _Oh, shit_ ,” someone whispered.

                She continued, “… so I challenged his interpretation of his own speech and he got disqualified.”

                “What’s he going to do?” Aaron asked.

                “Fuck if I know, but if this is the last speech meet where we’re going to be in the same room, then I really couldn’t care less. Sarah, what did people do their inform speeches about?”

                “There were only four people in my room, you know, so there was me, this girl who talked about GMOs, which was actually, well, _informative_ , but she made it very clear that she was anti-GMO so I was really conflicted, and then there was one guy who talked about _Doctor Who_ , whose speech I really didn’t like because he spoke too fast, like I didn’t know that it was possible to squeeze all of ‘ _Doctor Who’_ into one syllable but apparently that guy can do it, and then there was one girl who gave a speech on artificial intelligence whose speech was actually really good and she is definitely going to make it to nationals.”

                “What’s your speech about?” inquired Alexander.

                “The effect of the work of Thomas Aquinas on modern government,” Sarah said, “but I don’t really think that the judges were into it. There was one guy who was straight-up asleep for most of it, which really made me feel bad about myself.” She frowned.

                “Get Mr. Jay to file against that judge,” suggested John, “because I’m fairly certain that that’s a major misdemeanor.”

                “What does that do?”

                “Basically he can’t judge you or anyone from Frederick High School ever again, his ballot doesn’t count, and maybe some other stuff.”

                “Isn’t that kind of, you know, severe?”

                “I would do it,” he shrugged. “Aaron, Alex, how’d PFing go for you?” To his surprise, Alex turned to Thom.

                “Thom, you remember the guys who were the US at the last Model UN conference?”

                Thom groaned. “How could I fucking forget?”

                “They were the guys who we had to PF against.”

                “You’re kidding.”

                “That’s what I said, too.”

                “I think it went alright,” Aaron interjected. “I mean, there was no clear victor, so we either won or lost, and that’s that.”

                Alex glared at Aaron. “It doesn’t work that way. We lose a round, we basically forfeit qualification.”

                “Okay, okay,” John said, because he really wanted to avoid a fight between these two right now. If there was one thing that Alex was _exceptional_ at, it was getting into fights. The one time he’d tried international extemp he’d won first place, which was very impressive, but he’d been forced to stop because he had had major arguments with three different people and Mr. Jay didn’t want their team to look bad because of it. And anyway, if he was going to argue, it was better to just make that his main event. “I’m sure that second round is posted.”

                It was. Luckily, this time, Alexander and Aaron’s opponents were someone named “Sybil Ludington” and “Catharine Littlefield”. Alexander went ahead and made the somewhat sexist presumption that there was no way that they would lose this round. He was so, so wrong.

                When lunchtime rolled around for the group and the confusion of flighted rounds was put off for a good hour so that everyone could gossip while they had lunch, Mr. Jay took a moment out of his work counting and organizing ballots to ambiguously inform the team members how they were doing. He looked _really_ excited about something, so there was a good chance that there was a good chance that someone would qualify, but he couldn’t say _who_.

                “Angelica, John, Jackie,” he said, “keep doing what you’re doing.”

                Angelica raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean we’re doing well?”

                “Just _do_ it. Alex, Aaron, good job. Sarah, good job.”

                Everyone was content with this news except for Thom, who didn’t hear his name. He asked tentatively, “Is there… is there anything I should know?”

                In return, he only received a haphazard reply from Mr. Jay, who wouldn’t make eye contact with him. “You’ve, uh, improved, you know, even making it to _finals_ at districts is an accomplishment.” He was bad at lying.

                “You mean filling the sixth slot out of the six people in the competition?”

                “I should go grade papers while I have a break. Good luck.”

                When he left, Thom said, “I’m going to go die now.” Alex mouthed at him, ‘ _Quit speech, dumbass.’_

                “I think that next year I’m going to do discussion and just talk about socialism all the time.”

                “You’re not even going to be in the country next year, dumbass,” Alex said aloud, eliciting a glare from John and Aaron and a discreet thumbs-up from everyone else.

                “Senior year, then.”

                “Good choice, you know?”

                “My _good friend_ John Adams here will triple qualify for me.” Thom made sure to place an emphasis on the words _good friend_ so that Aaron would never be able to figure out that John was a slightly-more-than-dude to him.

                John blushed. He said, “I’m not triple qualifying any time soon, okay?” even though he clearly thought that he would triple qualify at some point. “I mean, if I qualify, then…” What? He’d have to vie for a national ranking? And if he got it, then what? It’s not like he had anything to live for besides speech, anyway.

                “Okay,” interjected Jackie, “but imagine this. If we continue to be a Policy team and qualify, then we’re _both_ going to nationals unless both of us qualify in single events.”

\---

                The awards ceremony was always the most daunting part of the day when it came to speech tournaments. Basically, how it worked was that the six finalists in each event would get call to the stage, and be presented their ribbons starting with the sixth person and going down to first place. Since this was the national qualifying tournament, third and fourth places would be announced as the alternates, and the top two spots in each event would be awarded plaques as the national qualifiers. Between each place, there was a single coordinated clap, with a standing ovation and copious clapping after first place was announced.

                Unfortunately, this tournament went in alphabetical order with speech events and then debate events, so Sarah, who had done inform, was up first. She was a grade above Alex, so she would have another year to qualify if she didn’t make it.

                “ _You think she’s going to qualify?”_ Alex whispered to Aaron, to which Aaron shrugged. She didn’t qualify, and had a stony face as she walked back to her seat with a fifth-place ribbon crumpled in her hand.

                “I’m sorry, Sarah,” Angelica comforted.

                Even though there were clearly tears forming in her eyes, Sarah insisted that she was “fine!” and “would definitely qualify next year.”

                The next person to go up, with original oratory, was Angelica, who looked unnaturally tense. Angelica was _never_ tense.

                “Sixth place,” the announcer called, “goes to Paul Revere of Liberty High School!”, and so on and so forth, until he got to third place, which went to “Angelica Schuyler… of Frederick High School.”

                Although she smiled, Alex could tell that she, too was crushed by not qualifying. That was, until John turned around to the rest of the team and whispered _really_ loudly and enthusiastically, “ _Guys! You see the girl who just won first place? That’s the girl who qualified in Lincoln-Douglas debate!”_

                Thom’s eyes opened really wide. “You mean…?” he asked.

                “ _She chose Lincoln Douglas!”_

                To Angelica’s surprise, the small team cheered as loudly as a full team of twenty when it was time for a standing ovation, and then the awards announcer said, “Don’t go off the stage yet.” He took a deep breath.

                “Miss Sybil Ludington, our first place champion, also qualified in Lincoln Douglas debate. She chose LD. That means that our national qualifier is our first alternate, Miss… Angelica Schuyler of Frederick High School!”

                “ _Holy fuck_ ,” Angelica whispered to herself as she took her ribbon and plaque and went back to where the team was sitting, where she was showered with affection and compliments.

                “I love you, Angelica,” Thom said.

                “Thanks. You should go, USX is on deck.”

                “Ah, fuck.” He was certain that he’d gotten sixth place out of sixth, but it would feel rewarding to actually get a ribbon for once. In his two years of speech, he had a total of five ribbons from sixteen meets. His best was third place out of five.

                John had, of course, rushed ahead and gotten in the front of the line of people who were waiting to go on stage. Typical John. When Thom managed to catch up to him, his hands were literally shaking in anticipation of the fact that he _knew_ that he would make it to speech nationals.

                John, however, brushed it all off. “I’m probably going to, you know, get, you know, fifth place.”

                He didn’t. Second place went to Olaudah Equiano of Middlesex High School, and there was only one person left who could possibly get first place. Even as he knew this, John remained stoic, and when his name was called for first place qualifier, he didn’t smile or even look happy. The expression on his face as he was handed his first place ribbon was merely a dazed one, as if to say, “And now what?”

                He didn’t get handed a plaque.

                “Unfortunately,” the announcer said, “or perhaps fortunately, Mr. John Adams also qualified in Policy debate. He chose Policy.” It was _these_ words which actually made him smile, his eyes searching for those of Jackie Marshall, as if to say, “ _Dude we fucking did it.”_ When he walked off the stage, his expression was one filled with confidence instead of the usual manic depression, and finally he knew that he had made it somewhere.

                He couldn’t wait until Peter heard about this.

\---

                On the bus ride home, John took it upon himself to call Peter instead of just telling him in person, because the news was just too damn exciting to wait until tomorrow or whenever it was that he saw his brother again. (John and his mother both lived in an apartment not too far from where they had lived before. Details of custody in Susanna and John, Sr.’s divorce were complicated.) Actually, he decided, he would get Jackie to call Peter just to fuck with him.

                When Peter picked up the phone, Jackie said loudly and concernedly, “Peter, it’s really important, okay? It’s about John. And me. Both of us.”

                “ _Don’t tell me… he killed himself? Someone killed him? He’s injured? He knocked someone up? Wait, that would never happen. He got arrested?”_ As a good brother, Peter was concerned, but John merely shook his head and muttered, “Wow, out of all the things he just said, I don’t even know which to be most offended at.”

                “It’s _bad_ , Peter, we’re going to have to leave the state of Maryland.”

                “ _Oh yeah? And go where?”_

                This was John’s turn to speak. “I don’t know, my dude, I was thinking somewhere along the lines of Salt Lake City.”

                “ _Oh my fucking god,”_ Peter said. “ _John, and Jackie, like, congratulations, but I fucking hate both of you go to hell.”_ And then he hung up. He called back a minute later and said, “ _I’m sorry for telling you to go to hell but I still hate you_.” And then hung up, but called immediately afterward and said, “ _No I’m not.”_

                Jackie smiled. “Peter’s so cool. We should be more like Peter.”

                “You mean fucking hate everything and everyone and basically tell your older bro that he’s not worthy of getting laid?”

                “Yeah. Wait, shouldn’t you be more concerned that he immediately assumed that you’d gone and committed suicide?”

                John changed the subject. “Anyway, I was really worried there for a moment that I’d qualify in USX, because I made up a shit ton of lies and fake numbers during my speech, and I just, you know, felt bad about it.”

                Jackie laughed. “You’d be a terrible politician. Sorry, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re going to nationals. I mean, not to be conceited, but now I’ll get into William and Mary for sure.” Although he didn’t like to talk about it, everything was really about getting into the College of William and Mary for Jackie. John had actually seen him cry after tests because he’d thought he failed, and “John, if my GPA is ruined, then I won’t get into William and Mary, and everything will be ruined for the rest of my life.”

                John nodded uncomfortably; he didn’t like to think about college, much less _talk_ about it. What was the incredibly slim chance that he’d get into Harvard like he’d always hoped? Like his cousin had? John hadn’t spoken to Sam in months, even when he called, because he always seemed to be busy going somewhere or doing something.

                “It’s not about your fucking college transcript, John.” It felt strange to be calling Jackie by his legal first name, not only because it was his _own_ name, but because he knew that Jackie didn’t identify with it at all. He almost felt like he was addressing some part of him that he’d left behind somewhere in the past few months. “It’s about the fact that we spent countless hours writing cases and giving speeches with pencils in our mouths so that we would be able to enunciate better, and the fact that we, as a team, kicked ass like there’s no tomorrow. So shut up.”

                It felt good to admit it to himself.

\---

                When, thirty minutes later, they reached the parking lot of Frederick High School again, John had another offer of something good waiting for him. He was on a _roll_ today.

                “Hey, John,” said Thom when they were safely in his car, “do you want to spend the night with me?”

                Oh, shit. Oh _shit_. “… what?” asked John.

                “I meant what I said.” It was dark outside, and Thom’s face was illuminated by a strretlight behind the driver’s seat.

                “You mean, like a sleepover?”

                Although John could not see it, he was certain that Thom had just rolled his eyes from exasperation. “…No. Not like that at all.”

                “You mean, like, in a…” John blushed. “A _sexual_ way?”

                “Yes, that’s what I meant, oh my god, don’t make it gay!” Thom leaned over to kiss John for a brief second before he heard a voice from the back say, “Hey, um, I can just leave now if you…”

                There was only one person he knew who said “um” instead of “uh” because of regional speech patterns among English speakers. Fuck. Thom had forgotten that he was supposed to give Alex a ride home, and now he was embarrassed about it. He made up for it by saying, “You shut your mouth for one second so I forgot about your presence,” before starting the ignition.

                When Alex had been dropped off and John and Thom had safely arrived at the lovely, empty home of Thom, John finally relaxed after this entirely stressful and emotionally tolling day. The two of them were alone in the house (Thom’s mother was working the night shift at the hospital and Lafayette was with… George Frederick. God knew what he was doing.), reclining on a sofa in Thom’s living room, when John said, “I have to talk to you about something serious.”

                ‘ _Fuck_ ,’ thought Thom. ‘ _Did he find out that I cheated on him? Oh yeah, I should actually probably tell him that myself at some point…’_ “Yeah?” His fingers were gently playing with John’s hair of ambiguous length.

                “You should, like, stop always being mean to Alex, because I know that he’s also always mean you, but fire doesn’t kill fire, and I’m also fairly certain that he has a tepid attitude towards me, but I consider him to be a _friend_. Fire doesn’t kill fire.”

                “Fire doesn’t kill fire, but two fires together can collide and destroy entire forests at a time.”

                “You know what I meant.”

                “Yeah,” he sighed. “Just for you, John, I’ll try to be a better and nicer person. Also, there’s something that’s kind of important that I have to tell you.”

                John was put off by the worried note in his boyfriend’s voice. “How kind of important are we talking about?”

                Thom bullshitted. “I’m gay,” he said out of panic. No _way_ was he about to say the actual important thing yet.

                “What the fuck?”

                He nodded. “I felt like I’ve been hiding this for too long of a time but the truth is that I’m actually in love with you.”

                Rolling his eyes, John replied, “I’m, you know, flattered, but I don’t really swing that way. You’re a great friend, but I don’t think that I could ever feel that way about you. We should still be friends, though.”

                “Fuck off,” said Thom as he leaned over to gently kiss John. He understood the reference that John had just made; it was a paraphrase of what Thom had said two years ago when John had first said, essentially, “I know we only know each other from speech but now we go to the same school and I’m in love with you”, which was an awkward moment and one which he had desperately tried to forget.

                Sometimes he thought that there were too many bad memories which he tried to forget, and now it felt like there were just bits and pieces of him left which were stuck together like some sort of bizarre version of Frankenstein. Today, however, Today! was a day that he didn’t want to forget. It was the middle of the end.

\---

                When school started again, everything was like it was before except that there was the impending stress of finals and AP exams on everyone. Alexander probably had it the worst, and Laurens was worried like never before.

                “Alex,” he said gently as he stroked Alex’s shoulder, “you’ve got time. Exams aren’t for a month, and they only count for ten percent of the semester grade, anyway.”

                “They only count for _ten percent?”_ asked Alex, shocked by this bit of news. “You’re not being serious.”

                “I am, actually, they only count for ten percent of the final grade.”

                Alexander uncharacteristically closed his notebook. “Well, fuck,” he said. “Thom said that it was forty percent.”

                “Thom fucking lied to you.”

                “No, but then Aaron backed him up.”

                “Why do you listen to people whom you hate? He fucking lied to you.”

                “I don’t know,” Alex sighed. “It seemed believable at the time. It was before Thom _really_ really hated me.”

                Laurens then said, “I think both of you should stop arguing all the time.”

                “You do?”

                “Of course!” He threw up his hands. “You’re my boyfriend, and he’s my _best_ friend, so do you have any clue what a compromising position that puts me in?” He paused. “Has he told John that he cheated on him yet?”

                “I don’t think so…”

                “Fuck.”

                “Are you okay?”

                “Rough week.”

                “You seem more upset than usual.”

                “Rough week.”

                “Do you want to talk about it?”

                Laurens leaned back on his chair and sighed. “This is going to sound awful. I’m a bad person.”

                “I’m a bad person too. It’s why we’re friends.”

                “I’m _jealous_ of someone.”

                “I never knew that you were a jealous person.”

                “That’s the point. I’m _not_ ,” Laurens frowned.

                “Who are you jealous _of_?”

                He shrugged. “Not important. Just forget that I said anything.”

                “You’re only going to get more and more upset if you don’t tell anyone.”

                “I’m kind of jealous of other John,” Laurens finally admitted. It felt as if he had just divulged a piece of information as important as a social security number. “I mean, I don’t mean to be rude or mean or anything, but at the moment it kind of feels like he just has everything that I _don’t_. Except for, like, healthy relationships with people.”

                Now Alex frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I never knew you felt that way.”

                “He’s my friend, and obviously I am very proud of him for making it to speech nationals after all this bad shit happened to him, but I went through a lot of the same things, and I had to quit speech, you know? I was good at it, too. We used to be policy partners.”

                “Really?” This was news to Alex.

                “Yeah,” Laurens nodded, lightly brushing his fingers over the long scar on his face. “For about three months at the beginning of the year, and then, you know, January happened, and I had to quit Policy and actually get a life and a job. Because apparently wasting my Saturdays getting told that I’m wrong and telling other people that they’re wrong wasn’t a luxury I’m allowed to have anymore, because you know, as a _legal adult_ I have _responsibilities_. And he doesn’t. It’s just, so, _so_ unfair. I know that even _I_ have it better than a lot of people, but…

                “I’m sorry,” he continued, “that you had to hear all of that from me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He hung his head.

                “Stop apologizing for being a human being and having actual human feelings.”

                “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

                Alex groaned. “Oh my _god_ , Laurens, we need to talk.”

                “About what?”

                “Listen…” he started, “I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot sometimes. By sometimes, I mean all the time.”

                Laurens frowned. “I feel kind of offended.”

                “Sorry. I should have been more articulate.” Sighing, Alexander continued, “I have no idea how to say this without sounding like a complete and total asshole, but it’s, I don’t know, you just always apologize for your feelings and it’s unsettling and depressing that you feel that way.”

                “You just used two participles. Try again.”

                “What?”

                “Being articulate, I mean.” Laurens leaned back in his chair. “You can’t overuse a certain part of speech without it becoming meaningless. It’s why so many people avoid adverbs. Try again.”

                “Okay?” Time to try again. “It is unsettling that you always try to apologize for your feelings because you have the right to be a person and _not_ have to be regretful for expressing your thoughts and emotions.”

                “That was better.”

                “So?”

                In response, Laurens merely looked at Alexander for a long moment and said, “I would break up with you if I didn’t already like you so much.”

                “What?” Everything about Laurens today conflicted whatever view that Alexander had already had of him. Was he always this cynical? “Are you okay?”

                “I’m a mean person. I’m sorry you have to learn that right now.”

                For once in his life, Alexander was rendered speechless. As he was in this speechless phase, Laurens, without saying another word, got up and left the room. Although he had said it more times in the last ten minutes than the rest of his life, Alexander was left with only the word, “ _What?”_ in his head. What?

                Whatever had happened to Laurens since he saw him last, it was bad, and most of all, strange. Laurens wasn’t a mean person like Alexander or Thom or Lafayette. Alex remembered that even on his first day of school in Annapolis, he had personally invited him to his tiny-as-fuck apartment and had been hospitable, even then. However, perhaps it wasn’t something which had happened to him today which had made him like this; he was the kind of person who bottled up his emotions until he finally cracked. He wouldn’t get this upset over something in one day. Most likely, there was something which ended up breaking the camel’s back, but Alexander had no clue what it was.

\---

                Later that same day, Lafayette was complaining to George Washington about his problems with George Frederick. Lafayette was the very special kind of person who had one problem, swore to himself that he wouldn’t tell anyone, and then told everyone about it anyway. Luckily, Washington hated him just as much, if not more, than he did, so they had some good shit-talking going on, if it could be called shit-talking; Washington preferred to keep himself out of gossip, and talked shit in such a refined manner that it would be more appropriate to call it “constructive criticism”.

                “I cannot believe that he would do that,” he said, shaking his head as they were walking through the school’s outdoor trails during a free period. “I actually _can_ believe that he would, but I just didn’t expect it. Lafayette, why do you keep on spending time with this guy?”

                “I am afraid that he will ruin my life if I tell him that I don’t want to be around him anymore. Also, he buys me food and takes me on dates even though we’re not actually dating.” Lafayette fondly remembered the time that George Frederick had taken him to one of the high end cafés in Annapolis.

                “He’s essentially your sugar daddy.” This wasn’t really a question, but more of an open-ended statement.

                After thinking about it for a moment, Lafayette nodded and answered, “Yeah. That sounds accurate.”

                Washington lowered his voice. “Lafayette, do you know what’s the best but not-entirely-advisable way to get rid of him?”

                “What?”

                “You have to sleep with his brother.”

                “Which one?”

                “William Henry.”

                “Aww,” Lafayette pouted, “but he’s ugly. I’m not losing it to someone who’s ugly.”

                “You also could just wait for another month and a half because you’re leaving after that,” pointed out Washington, “and until then relish in the fact that you’ve made someone so weak for you that they had to question their own sexuality.”

                “Yeah…”

                “But this makes me want to punch him even more than I already wanted to punch him. The fact that Frederick basically pressures you into doing stuff with him.”

                Lafayette smiled. “In high school, you either punch or get punched.”

                “That’s true,” affirmed George. “I’ve managed to avoid getting punched thus far. Am I going to be the puncher? It is imperative for George Frederick to get punched.”

                “You should punch him,” replied Lafayette, “but after you get your diploma, so that you can’t get expelled or anything.”

                “I’ll punch him after graduation,” George decided. “Normally, I would find this to be immoral, but sometimes it’s necessary to just go out and _do_ it.”

                Lafayette kept Washington’s vow to punch George in his mind all day until he actually ran into George, when in a panic, he asked, “George, have you ever been punched.”

                George laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been punched,” he replied. “I was punched almost every year of middle school, but I also punched back, and that’s why I was suspended so much. Why? Would you like to punch me?”

                “Can I? I would love to punch you.”

                “Okay.” Lafayette first checked to see if nobody was around, and then he punched George’s arm. Lafayette discovered that he was good at punching.

                George winced. “Damn, Lafayette, I did not expect you to actually punch me hard. That’s going to leave a bruise.”

                “Sorry. You can punch me if you’d like.”

                George shook his head. “No, it’s kind of hot.” He paused. “But hey, if you want to make it up to me, will you go out with me on Friday? And yes, I am completely aware that we are not dating.”

                “Where?” asked Lafayette. Embarrassingly enough, this was a weekly or bi-weekly occurrence at this point.

                “Will you walk around the Naval Academy campus with me?”

                “Do I need my passport?”

                “Yes.”

                “Should I dress nicely?”

                “Probably.”

                “Okay.” It was a date.

\---

                At this point, Alex had no fucking clue how to describe his relationship with Thom; it was an unusual relationship forged from a strong yet empowering mutual hatred. Alex was sure, however, that he needed Thom more than Thom needed him, which was aggravating and _had_ to change. Thom gave him rides to speech meets, gave him advice on _certain matters,_ and occasionally shared his snacks with him. And for what? Alex couldn’t do anything for him besides proofread his French compositions (which were, annoyingly enough, usually error-free), and somehow always manage to improve his self-esteem. The only thing, really, that Alex could hold over Thom’s head was that he _knew_ that he’d cheated on his boyfriend, and that wasn’t much a threat, since he was also a culprit. Laurens and Lafayette both refused to side with either of them on an argument, although, strangely, John tended to side with Alexander over political matters. Alex didn’t understand how the two could be together when they fundamentally disagreed about politics; he could never be with someone who he politically disagreed with.

                Which was why (!!!!) he’d gotten along so well with John fucking Laurens, who was apparently a “mean person” and couldn’t seem to decide who he wanted to be. On one hand, there was the Laurens who was an avid film fanatic although he-never-went-to-the-movies-because-he-was-poor and liked to gossip, and then there was the Laurens who worked with plants and mediated arguments and had started crying that one time when John told everyone the story of how Thom had repeatedly and consistently broken his heart over a series of months, and then there was the Laurens who cracked under pressure and used to get into fistfights on a regular basis and had essentially told Alexander that he wanted to break up with him even though he had seemingly no incentive to do so because it wasn’t as if they’d ever had a serious disagreement until today. Alexander wondered if it was his fault for not being articulate and also maybe calling Laurens an idiot for not facing his problems in a constructive fashion.

                This was where Thom came in. Alexander had said to him in a passing moment after class, “Jerkferson, I must speak to you about a rather important matter.”

                Jerkferson responded, “I have time now.”, and so now they were in the empty lecture hall, sitting across from each other on some rows of desks. This was Thom’s free period, but Alexander was skipping Spanish class for this and really, he didn’t give a single fuck. He knew it was conceited, but he didn’t see why it was necessary to go to a class where he could never do any of the assigned work and still have one of the highest percentages in the class.

                “Listen, _Thom,_ I have to talk to you about something important to me.”

                “Is it Jack?”

                Alex nodded. “He said something really incredibly callous to me today, and it was so unlike him that I have no clue what to say or do.” He’d just used two adverbs, and he knew it.

                “What did he say?”

                “Don’t tell John I said this.”

                “Don’t worry, there’s a lot of things it’s better to not tell John,” interjected Thom. Alex didn’t know how to feel about this statement, but he continued anyway.

                “Well, basically what happened is that he said that he was jealous and kind of upset that John had the opportunity to make nationals, well…” he backtracked. “He said that he was proud of him for making nationals because a lot of ‘bad shit’ has happened to him lately, but at the same time he was kind of jealous because a lot of the same bad shit had happened to him and instead of continuing with his life, he was forced to grow up early. And by kind of jealous, I mean _really_.”

                “That’s bad.”

                “Well anyway, he started apologizing for his feelings and was ashamed of himself, so I told him that he shouldn’t have to apologize for having actual human emotions, and then he got _really_ angry and told me that he would break up with me if he didn’t already like me so much and just _left_.”

                Thom crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “You fucked up really, really badly.”

                “What? How did _I_ fuck up?”

                “He hates when people tell him what to do, because he’s like, a legal adult or whatever.”

                “You’re joking.”

                “John Laurens doesn’t like to, you know, _tell_ people about it but he’s actually got all of these really awful complexes about shit like that and I don’t think he even realizes it. I have this theory that he’s actually a really angry and reckless person but just doesn’t ever tell anyone about it.”

                “He’s going to hate me forever now!”

                “Alex,” Thom said, very somberly. “If you haven’t noticed by now, there are a _lot_ of people who hate you.”

                “Yeah,” said Alex through clenched teeth, “but it’s different because I don’t love them.”

                There. Alexander said it: he was in love with John Laurens and didn’t want him to hate him forever.

                Thom didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then finally, he said, “Listen, if there’s anything I’ve learned from being with someone who has, like, no emotional stability, it’s that you have to apologize for the times you fuck up even if you don’t actually think that you were the one who fucked up.”

                “Wow, you’re actually helpful for once,” Alex noted.

                “I try to be sometimes.” Right as he finished saying this, the door to the lecture hall opened. It was Laurens.

                “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Thom mumbled to himself.

                Laurens was confused because Alexander should have been in class, but before he could say anything, Alex turned to him and said, “I’m sorry for earlier when I told you what to do with your life, because I really have no place to do that.”

                “It’s okay,” said Laurens. “I just get irrationally angry sometimes. It’s not your fault. You didn’t mean any harm.”

                He then sat down across from both Thom and Alex, so they all formed a triangle. Laurens asked Thom, “When are you going to tell John that you cheated on him?” This was a really badly-timed question, and it made both Thom and Alex uncomfortable.

                “Well, I’m going to leave now,” said Alex.

                “No you’re not,” Laurens commanded. “Don’t act like either of you are less responsible for this.”

                Thom shrugged. “Well, I was actually planning on telling him on the Sunday after graduation because my flight is on Monday and I think that it would make things easier for everyone.”

                “That’s a terrible idea. You have any idea how he’s going to react?”

                “Badly?”

                Alexander added, “That’s the week before speech nationals, too.”

                Signing, Thom said, “It’s got to happen at some point, right? Might as well choose the point that’s the most convenient. Say, have either of you read _Old Yeller_?”

                “Why?” Laurens raised an eyebrow.

                “Sometimes you have to put the dog down and there’s no nice way of going about it, damn it!”

\---

                Sooner or later, it was time for AP exams, and then finals week came, and graduation was creeping closer, along with the goodbyes which nobody wanted to say to each other. It was time to put the damn dog down.

                “John,” Thom whispered, “there’s something I have to tell you. It’s kind of important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody ever comments anymore which makes me kind of sad, like, did I do something wrong?... but anyway
> 
> Discussion question: does Thom really need Alex for anything?
> 
> I've been planning the next chapter since November.


	16. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much-needed ending to the thrilling saga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote an ending,  
> decided that i wasn't satisfied with it,  
> decided to just continue the story,  
> realized that i really didn't have anything left to write,  
> and so here i am, with the original ending, because i'm an idiot.

                But before that happened, a lot of other stuff happened. Finals and AP exams happened (once again, Thom and Alexander tied in their competition to be the best), and graduation happened, and the entire gang had a small going-away party for Lafayette, because they didn’t know if they would meet again. Everything happened too quickly for Alexander to fully comprehend, and he didn’t like it. George Washington, true to his word, punched George Frederick in the face after graduation, and it made a surprisingly small splash into a pool of post-graduation news. It seemed so trivial, so impermanent, even though George Frederick would forever have a crooked nose because of the incident. And he ended up letting Lafayette go, because he was never his.

                The last words which Lafayette said to Alexander were, “Alexander, don’t forget your ideal pursuits. Someone wise once said this to me, but I let everything be as insignificant as I felt it to be, and only ended up disappointed. Don’t forget your ideal pursuits.” And then he was gone, and Alexander wondered, was Lafayette even real to begin with? Was he ever anything but a figment of his imagination? No matter whom he asked, nobody seemed to remember him the way that Alexander did, as the person who’d once spoken terrible English and wanted to get into music and passed the BAC early, but ultimately ended up disappointed and with a passion to find better things to live for than people who didn’t tell him that they had tuberculosis. This was a lazy goodbye to someone who seemed to bear such significance at first, and Alex knew it, but there was no inherent meaning in anything anyone did, anyway.

                He said goodbye to Thom, but that goodbye wasn’t as meaningless as Lafayette’s departure; instead, this was a vow to meet each other again and be stronger than before. It was cliché, but fiction took basis in fact. They’d duke it out a year later. Time is nothing in the face of rivalry.

                And then school ended, and everything slowed down for a couple of months to the point where Alexander could hear his internal organs individually functioning. Charles worked on his painting, and somehow seemed to keep in touch with Alex’s friends more than Alex did. The only person whom he spoke to on a regular basis except for Charles was Laurens, and even he seemed to be busy working overtime in order to save money for college. Laurens had decided that if anywhere, he was going to attend a college in Europe, where the words “student loans” were seldom heard. That was okay. They still had two years left to be together, and then the future for everyone was uncertain. They wouldn’t be alone together, but they would be alone without anyone else together.

                John Singleton Copley left to go pursue an art career on Long Wharf, the place from which he came, and John Hancock went back to Harvard.

                Everything seemed empty. It was Alexander’s first Annapolis summer, and most of it was spent wandering and searching for inspiration. There is sex, and there are dreams of the future which glitter so bright, but so far away. There is the hope for rivalry again, and there are fights which Alexander starts for the sole purpose of entertainment. There is one time that he runs into Aaron Burr, and instead of being hostile, he treats him like an old friend. “We’re going to nationals next year, right?” “Of course!”

                There is a breakup, and Alexander realizes that the only thing keeping their entire gang together was John’s hopeless wanting which was never supposed to be fulfilled. National speech happened, and John came back a nationally ranked policy-debater, but that didn’t fix the fact that he was still heartbroken. John Marshall denounced his “piece of shit good for nothing cousin” with good intentions, but it didn’t do anything except for make him feel worse.

                “Hey,” Peter said, slowing his swing down. They hadn’t seen each other since before the national speech tournament, and now it was the week after. John winced every time he heard the brush of Peter’s shoes against the dirt. “How’s your boyfriend doing?”

                John shook his head. “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to him in a while. He’s in France.” And then, in a much quieter voice, he mumbled, “…and he’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

                “ _What?_ Why? What happened? Did he break up with you? Should I kill him?”

                Very slowly, a tear fell from John’s eye, and then there was another one, and another one, and then he broke down crying. “Are you okay? Do you not want to talk about it?” asked Peter. John was someone who cried a _lot_ , to the point where Peter refused to watch movies with him because it was too distracting. However, this time it was ugly, sad crying, which he _hadn’t_ seen from his brother before.

                After about five minutes of losing himself in tears, John whispered, “Peter, he cheated on me.”

                “But… he’s not allowed to do that! I told him that if he ever cheated on you, then I would not… hesitate… to murder him.”

                “Don’t do that. You’ll never get employed if you go to juvie.”

                “You’re only objecting to me murdering him for fear that I’ll never get employed?”

                “People are people. They do things that hurt others without having second thoughts, and it’s fucked up, but it’s human nature.”

                “You think he was never in love with you to begin with?”

                “I might sound conceited, but I think that he always has been and still is. If anything, however, that only makes it worse.”

                “Who was the other person?”

                “You know Alexander Hamilton?”

                “I suddenly don’t like him.”

                “He was a new kid from New York who had never had any friends. I forgive him. Say, Peter, promise me one thing.”

                Peter raised a single eyebrow. “Anything.”

                “Never fall in love with a guy. Go after girls instead. Don’t let a kiss fool you, and don’t let a fool kiss you. Someone not-so-wise said that to me once, you know.”

\---

“Listen, John,” Alex said over the phone the day after it had happened, his voice completely somber. He was in Laurens’s apartment making this phone call, because Laurens didn’t want him to ruin everyone’s relationships more than they already were ruined. It wasn’t often that Alexander was sorry for something he said or did, and even less so that he expressed his regret. He wasn’t entirely sure how to do this. “I’m really, really sorry for my part in, you know… I’m sorry for having sexual relations with your significant other when I knew that it would invariably cause damage to you and your mental health.”

                “Thanks, I guess?” John said from the other end of the line. Laurens shot Alexander a look which he interpreted as, “ _Alex wtf you’re doing this wrong_.”

                Alex then said, “I’m not good at apologies, because I really don’t apologize often, but this time I actually see that what I did was immoral, because you’re my _friend_ (he hesitated a moment before he said “friend”) and it’s entirely evident that we have our differences, but what I did hurt you in a way that even I cannot empathize with, so instead let’s sympathize together, okay?

                “I, um, came from a school in New York City to what you refer to as a ‘piece of shit hell town’, and I didn’t know anyone, I didn’t have any friends, and I figured that I would have to move sometime soon because that’s been my life for the past two years. So, when someone said that they _wanted_ me, it was a good, strange feeling that I gave into entirely because I had no clue what I was feeling. I’m sorry.”

                After a long silence in which Alex thought that John had hung up, he finally said, “I forgive you.”

                “Really?”

                “Yeah, I mean, how can I blame you for being weak for someone who I’m even weaker for? In your situation, I would have done the same thing.”

                “Do you want to talk about it in real life? Because I feel that that would be entirely beneficial to both of us.”

                “Sorry,” John said, “I’m kind of still a wreck, and I don’t really want to leave my apartment right now. Also, there’s a girl who just moved in to the apartment next door. Her name is Abigail Smith. She seems nice. She likes literature and persuasive writing. I think you’d like her…”

                “You think you’re going to be okay?”

                “Yeah… I should go.” John then hung up the phone, leaving Alexander to wonder whether he _would_ be okay or not. Alex turned to Laurens.

                “Do you think I did the right thing?” he asked.

                Laurens smiled. “You look at me like I have all the answers in the universe, Alex, but I really, really don’t.” Life went on, and new people came to replace the ones that left, and Alexander was left wondering if he had been a replacement for someone, or if he had actually been the catalyst for anything to change.

In any case, Laurens refused to tell him, even though he had all the answers in the universe.

 

                Life went on, until it didn’t. There was an awkward second stage of growing-up that nobody wanted to do, but was inevitable. John and Thom (who decided to go by Thomas when he was in France) had an on-off relationship until their late twenties, when John literally said “fuck it” one day and asked Abigail Smith to marry him. She said yes. Alexander and Aaron _did_ end up making it to national debate, but then had a falling-out and both decided to do different events from then on. Luckily, however, neither of them peaked in high school. Both of them went on to become skilled lawyers, and like their high school debate days, worked on cases together. Alexander found it interesting to note that everyone in their sophomore-year gang had went on to law school.

                After senior year of high school was over, Thom, valedictorian, had asked Alexander, salutatorian, to give the valedictorian speech in his stead. And then, after they had received their diplomas, said to him, “Maybe we’ll meet again.” They didn’t. The last time that Thom ever spoke to Alexander was on the day that Laurens died, during a thirty-minute phone call in which he didn’t say a single word. They both sat there, crying on their opposite lines in solidarity.

                Alexander realized that although he claimed to not, Laurens was always the one who had held all the answers to the universe. He now lived in New York again, but on his first day at Frederick High School, it had been Laurens who explained John’s sudden fit of outrage when they were playing never-have-I-ever. It was a game that they never finished, and couldn’t now, anyway. It was Laurens who had always consoled him, whose moods were always dynamic, and who never ended up getting into that film career which he had always wanted. He was always unlucky and reckless, but knew what was coming to him. The secret to eternal life was not caring, but he had cared too much about everything to live past the age of twenty-eight. Laurens would not have been disappointed. He would not have said that he died at twenty-eight. He would have said that he lived until twenty-eight.

                Alexander missed Jack Laurens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been fun

**Author's Note:**

> it gets better  
> shoutout to [vlad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skulduggery_putin)  
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ussbrandywine)  
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated and make my entire week.
> 
> If you enjoy this work then please check out my other works as well!!


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